


Stop and Breathe

by Enid_Black



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Cancer, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Discussion of Death, F/M, Fairy Godfather Georgi Popovich, Fear of Death, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I read too many Mafia!AUs, M/M, Major Illness, Medical Procedures, My beta needed insulin after this, Non-invasive, Not My Fault, Slightly graphical depiction of medical procedures, Social Media, Swearing, Working title, Yuri Plisetsky Swears, a dream made me do this, the fuck do I dream, too much research on flights, too much research on time zones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 72,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24170578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enid_Black/pseuds/Enid_Black
Summary: When Yuuri is faced with something worse than his usual anxiety, he needs all his strength, and to borrow some from the people around him, to get through.But... they call everything on ice, Love, and Love takes different forms and cares in a million different ways.And they are all around
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Nishigori Takeshi/Nishigori Yuuko
Comments: 311
Kudos: 418





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note:
> 
> This story started from a dream after a real dear friend of mine had a road accident and was between death and life for a few weeks (he’s FINE now, thankfully!) roughly seventeen months ago. I have no idea why my brain did what it did, but this is the result. 
> 
> It was December 2018 and the first half of this story was hand-written on a notebook and then copied on a word file in a couple of months. But I had managed to spit out the whole structure, so, here I am, months and months afterwards.
> 
> Please take care, although I don't describe nothing too graphically (I'll try to put a TW on the notes of the chapter so that you know what to expect when I do), it stills has to do with illnesses and fear and anxiety. Also, I immediately tell you that IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING. I couldn't write a story like this WITHOUT a happy ending. 
> 
> THIS IS A MULTI-POV FIC. Every *** *** marks a new point of view. 
> 
> I haven’t completed a long fic since I was 17 and wrote an entire 5th book of Harry Potter, so yeah, this is my baby. It’s around 31 chapters, and they are ALL written, my beta is working with them too. So, I’ll publish one chapter per week, and I’d like you to know that comments and kudos are VERY VERY welcome. 
> 
> Last, but not least, SO MANY MANY THANKS to my Beta: NepturnalHarianne, who helped me through so many slumps and is doing a fantastic work as the most nitipickiest beta ever!
> 
> So... here we go...

Yuuri hadn’t worried. Although only few days had passed after the silver medal at the Grand Prix, a whole lot of things had happened, not last, his move to St Petersburg to train with Viktor while Viktor resumed training under Yakov. It had been, frankly, a complete mad move, something that he would have never considered before. Before Viktor, at least. So, he wasn’t really surprised to feel a bit under the weather.

He still trained, and although his stamina wasn’t at his usual standard and the bruises from the occasional fall healed somewhat more slowly, he hadn’t thought that something was amiss.

Viktor didn’t share his opinion.

Apparently, neither did Yakov nor Yurio. The three of them cornered him one morning after he took one second too long to get up from a stupid flubbed double axel. The third failed jump of the day, the others being triples.

“Medic. _Now_.” Said Yakov, in a _no bullshit_ tone, while Viktor helped him up, staring at him worryingly.

“It’s not necessary…” he tried to say, not wanting to anger Feltsman on his first days, but Yuuri was unceremoniously interrupted.

“Katsudon, I’ll drag you to the infirmary myself if you don’t go now. I’m tired to see Viktor distracted because you are too stupid to see that you need to be checked over.” Yurio’s words and the tone were harsh, and his green eyes fixed on Yuuri’s, naked with worry. It unsettled Yuuri to see the teen like that.

Turning around, he noticed that Viktor had his gaze trained on the small cut on his cheek that still smarted. Yuuri brought a hand to his face, touched it, and looked at his fingers: they were wet with a fresh streak of blood, from his earlier fall, and it should have already stopped bleeding by now

“Please, Yuuri,” Viktor said, his voice low and almost begging. He gave in, how could he not? He skated to the exit and got out of the ice.

“Go with him, Vitya, the doctor’s English is good but it’s better if he has someone who can translate… besides, it’s not like you’d be able to concentrate otherwise.” He heard Yakov tell Viktor, gruffly.

*** *** ***

Viktor had worried, but had also tried to tell himself that it was nothing. He had worried, and seeing Yakov and Yura as worried as him hadn’t done anything to calm him down. Yuuri had tried to be stubborn, but at least he had relented when he had seen his imploring eyes.

He had worried, but never could he have imagined something so catastrophic.

The doctor had ordered some bloodwork and put Yuuri on rest. Viktor’s unease came from the fact that she seemed rather concerned, although she tried to reassure them. Just a couple of days later, doctor Gusarova had called Yuuri in his office, and Yuuri had wanted Viktor in with him.

As soon as he had seen the doctor’s face, Viktor had known that there would be bad news. Yuuri too, judging from the iron grip on his hand. He gripped it back just as tightly.

Then the doctor had started talking and everything had come crashing down on their heads.

Cancer.

Leukemia.

Viktor had wanted to run. _He did not_. He stood next to Yuuri, gripping his hand fiercely while they sat down to discuss the options with doctor Gusarova. Viktor didn’t really remember a lot about it, but then, she had been kind enough to give them a folder with everything they would need to know. He wanted to scream, to run, to close himself in his house, to hug Makkachin and forget everything.

He couldn’t.

Above all, he didn’t really _want to_.

Yuuri was stock still, unnaturally so, pale as the Russian snow. The doctor had left them in the room, alone.

Although he hadn’t made a sound, his hand was gripping Viktor’s harder and harder, and he knew that, as long as Yuuri was by his side, he would not go anywhere.

Resolve steeled, flight instinct smashed against the ice, he turned towards his love, whose breath was becoming shorter and shorter.

He would not abandon him.

He would not abandon his heart.

*** ***

 _No_. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be happening. He was only tired, stressed by the moving, the training, the jet lag... Yuuri wanted to hide, to go back in that bathroom in Sochi after the Grand Prix, he wanted Yurio to shout murder at him. He wanted to retire, to be forgotten, even to forget, he wanted literally _anything_ else, any one of those things he had hated would be better than this, he would even trade the humiliation of failing at the nationals for this.

He could not.

The eight letters on the front page prevented it. The file was on the desk, mocking him with its reassuring green characters, English and Cyrillic one above the other.

He couldn’t move. His hand was gripping Viktor’s too hard, and he knew he should really let it go before he hurt him, but he could not.

He could not think. He could not move, he could not breathe, his air intake decreasing into uncontrollable short gasps, and the panic he felt for once was not unjustified.

It didn’t make him feel better.

Through misty lens, he saw Viktor’s figure moving, turning to him, and the treacherous part of his mind that kept sabotaging him whispered ‘ _That’s it, he’s sending you away, you’re not useful anymore, you can die_ … you will die’

It was immediately silenced, though, by Viktor’s arms pulling him in, towards his chest and Viktor’s lips on his, which was not what he expected.

Viktor wasn’t pushing, he didn’t try to deepen the kiss: he was grounding him, forcing him to keep the air inside his lungs for a few more seconds. The man’s free hand came to his face, cupping his cheek, and his thumb skimmed over his cheekbone, spreading wetness on his skin.

Yuuri finally realized then that he’d been crying. His own hand clutched Vitya’s sweater, twisting it slightly, holding him close.

When the kiss ended, he found himself in the arms of the silver-haired man in front of him, being held him closer, tighter than ever. The traitor part of his mind finally shut up at that.

Viktor’s lips deposited a kiss on his head, the part he could reach while Yuuri was half hidden in his neck.

“We’ll fight this. Together, you hear me? You’ll come up on the other side.”

His Viktor’s voice was almost hoarse but so _strong, so sure of it_ , just like he said that he _definitely_ could do a Flip or land the Salchow properly, that Yuuri was tempted to believe him. He would believe him. He couldn’t _not_ believe him.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the catastrophe, will everything fall apart?

Yuuri had wanted to go home, afterwards, and Viktor had nodded, taking the folder that his love had studiously ignored from the desk. They had put their winter coats on, and Viktor had taken Yuuri’s right hand and kissed the ring there, before putting the gloves on the man’s hands. The shock was settling in and he did not lose time in bringing his love home.

Yuuri crossed the threshold and stood still. Viktor put the folder on the chair on the side of the door, front page down, then he helped Yuuri out of his coat and took off his gloves. Makkachin was whining at his feet, trying to nuzzle Yuuri’s hands, while he guided him on the sofa. The dog wasn’t deterred by his unresponsiveness and jumped on the sofa, forcing the almost catatonic man to pet her, which he did automatically. Viktor smiled briefly at his wonderful girl while she licked his love under his chin. He made some tea and brought a mug in the sitting room, on the side table, switching the TV on, and chose some mindless Russian program about cooking, the male host gesturing at the ingredients. Just sounds to fill the silence, because he knew that the silence would be worse for him afterwards. He took his phone and got into the bedroom. The only thing Yuuri had asked in the car had been for Viktor to call, to be the one to tell the bad news to his parents, to Yakov and their friends. He didn’t want to do talk with them himself, not about this, not in that moment, and Viktor knew he would have preferred hiding it from anyone but… it was obvious he would not be able to hide it for long. And in the end, it would only be worse.

Viktor’s heart had seized up and hurt, and his hands had gripped the steering wheel until the knuckles had become white, but his voice hadn’t wavered when he had answered “Of course, Yuuri.” If he could give him a reprieve, he would. At any cost.

Besides, Viktor knew why Yuuri didn’t want to be the one telling the others. It made it terribly true, terribly real. Saying it out loud made it true, as much as they wanted it not to be. It was the same reason why he had his finger hovering over the _Яков_ on his phone.

Maybe he should have called Hasetsu first, but he needed this, so Yakov it was.

The phone barely rang once before connecting. Yakov’s voice seemed gruff and normal when it answered, asking,

“How bad is it?” but Viktor knew him, and he knew better: Yakov never answered at the first ring, he had to have had his phone in hand.

“Leukemia.” He choked out, surprised at having been able to say the word at all, feeling hot tears, the ones he hadn’t been able to shed in the doctor’s office, burn his skin, getting salty and sour into his mouth. The single Russian swear word that Yakov let out was all Viktor needed to know how heart-stricken the old coach really was. “We have options,” We. Because there would be no coming back from this journey for Viktor if not side by side with Yuuri, “but right now we’re still…” shocked was a euphemism, and he did not need them with Yakov.

“Of course,” the coach said. “Shall I tell anyone else?” he asked.

“He asked me to call his family. I couldn’t… I had to call you before.”

“Vitya,” Yakov’s voice softened, “Don’t try the same shit you did before, don’t shut us out, neither of you.” Viktor heard commotion on the other side of the line. “Vitya, Yura is here, he knows something’s up. Do you want me to tell him?”

Yura. Yura was fifteen years old. Viktor didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to taint his life with this _thing_. He hesitated, tempted to say no, to shield the boy, at least for a moment.

Yuri didn’t give him the chance.

“Nikiforov, don’t be an idiot and tell me what Katsudon has. Yakov is as white as ice.” His voice was almost shrill with worry, even the barbs and the nicknames sounded forced. Yura was already worried and involved. Not telling him wasn’t an option.

“Yura,” he started, his voice as soft as he could, the familiar nickname he now used so rarely (he enjoyed too much riling him up by calling him Yurio) to try and soften the blow. The sudden sob on the other side of the call startled him. He had never heard Yuri cry like that, not even when he was a novice.

“Is he dying?” the fifteen-year-old asked between tears, the voice barely audible, as it was something he didn’t wanted to ask, but had to.

“ _No_.” Viktor answered forcefully and with a self-assuredness he didn’t feel, “No, Yura, but it’s bad. He has leukemia.” Viktor whispered at the end, the word no easier to force out the second time. The following sob tugged at this heart.

“We’re going to fight, aren’t we?” Yuri said a few seconds later.

“Of course, Yura. Of course, we’re going to fight.” Viktor replied, choked up by Yuri’s intensity.

“Good. Because there’s no sense in me beating Katsudon’s world record if he’s not there to defend it.”

A rustling sound made him cringe, and then Yakov’s voice came back to the line.

“And that was Yura’s speech for ‘he’s my friend and I care for him’.”

“I know. Yakov?”

“Tell me, Vitya.” The softness in his coach’s tone hit Viktor in the gut like Yura’s sobs.

“I need to check on Yuuri and then make another few calls. I don’t know if we’ll be at the rink tomorrow.”

“If you want to come, we’ll keep it as normal as possible.” He said. “You could use the practice; your quad Axel won’t come by itself.”

“Спасибо, Yakov.”

“You’re welcome.”

*** ***

He had checked out, he knew. He knew because the last thing he remembered were the white walls of doctor Gusarova’s office and now he was at Viktor’s (their!) home, Makkachin on his legs, a mug of tea (the Russian kind, not the Japanese one, albeit without jam) in his hands, automatically brought to his lips, judging by the half consumed liquid. It was barely warm now, so it had been a while. The television had been switched on and a blond woman was explaining something about a ballet school. He didn’t know what, his Russian was patchy at best, although he understood the ballet terms.

He heard a sound from the bedroom, Viktor’s voice speaking softly. Right. On the phone. Purposefully, he decided not to think about it yet. He watched the muted images, and he mentally supplied the commentary on the practice shown. _Fouettés, rond de jambe, that ‘port de bras’ is terrible, what are they doing, guiding planes?_

After a while, soft steps carried Viktor in the sitting room. Yuuri risked a good look at him. His eyes were red and glassy, but no tears were on his face, although it seemed still damp so he might have had wiped them away. His hair was a mess, the long fringe haphazardly draped on the top of his head, falling down mercilessly. When their gazes met, though, Yuuri’s was welcomed with a smile. A tired, small, trembling one, but a smile nonetheless. He put his mug on the small table next to the armrest and raised his right arm invitingly. Viktor didn’t hesitate, he covered the remaining distance to the sofa before scrambling on it, making himself small and burying his face in Yuuri’s neck, the two men embracing with unerring ease.

Yuuri was strangely glad he wasn’t the one needing comfort in that moment, happy (serene) to provide it for Vitya. He could not bear to leave all the work to him. He could not bear to be a burden, hated it, even.

They stayed in silence for a few minutes, content just to bask in each other’s warmth. Makkachin left the sofa to go lying on the carpet at their feet, huffing softly.

Once he had had his fill of Viktor’s smell, Yuuri pushed him slightly and pecked him on the lips.

“Thank you.” He said. He knew Viktor would understand what for. _Thank you for being there at the hospital, and here now. Thank you for letting me hide for a bit, and thank you for letting me be your haven._

The treacherous voice of his anxiety didn’t raise objection.

In the face of real danger, anxiety fled, at least for the moment.

Just his luck.

Viktor kissed him back, caressing his cheek, gazing into his eyes.

“Don’t mention it.” He answered, then opened his mouth to add something, just to close it immediately. He quite resembled a fish, one of the Japanese Koi carps he loved to go and see at the Aquarium in Detroit when he felt homesick. Yuuri chuckled at the thought. Vitya’s mock offended face warranted another kiss.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said. He knew what the man was afraid to say, though, so he decided to have pity. “Who have you called?” he asked.

“Your parents, although I mostly spoke with Mari. She’s looking for the first flight to come here, I told her to use my credit card, don’t fight me on this”, Viktor anticipated his protests, and he let them die on his lips, “I called Yakov. And then Yurio was there…” Yuuri felt his breath hitch. Yurio was young, he hadn’t wanted to upset the teen, “I almost didn’t tell him,” Viktor kept on, correctly interpreting Yuuri’s silence, “but he knew something was wrong and he’s not a kid but… yeah, he would have never forgiven us if we didn’t tell him.” Yuuri knew he was right. He didn’t have to like it, but, as the day had proved, things never went how he wanted them to. “Mari said she would tell Minako and Yuuko. And to call her when you’re up to. And to call your parents. And Yakov said that we could take the day off tomorrow, but that if we wanted, we could go to the rink. And Yurio said that he can’t beat your world record if you can’t fight back. And Phichit…” Yuuri stopped Viktor’s rambling by bringing a hand on his neck and pushing him forward, to kiss him. Not a peck, not the gentle kiss he had received at the hospital, the one that had pulled him out of the blind panic that had overtaken him. This was heated, this was passion, this was his way to tell his Vitya ‘ _I’m here, I’m alive, I’m not going anywhere and I want you with me’_ , his hand firm on the neck of the older skater.

Viktor responded immediately, meeting him with as much passion as he was given, Yuuri read his ‘ _I’m here_ ’ in the caress over his heart, his ‘ _you’re alive’_ in the teeth that lightly bit his lower lip, _‘I’m not going anywhere_ ’ in the long legs coming to bracket his hips, pushing him against the back of the sofa, forcing his head up, up, following those lips. They broke the kiss, both breathless, and gazed at each other. Yuuri brought Viktor’s right hand to his reddened lips, and kissed the gold band and the finger underneath. He looked at him, straight in the eyes.

“Make love to me, Vitya.” He murmured, and neither could move faster, then, never leaving each other’s hand, almost tripping on poor Makkachin that just grumbled half-heartedly.

Viktor did make love to him. Not like it was the first or, gods forbid, the last time, but like they had all the time in the world. He opened him between kisses and caresses, moans and sighs, until Yuuri, impatient, pushed him on the bed, his hands firm on Viktor’s wrists.

They stopped, hard and hard breathing, eyes fixed together, both startled by the act. Yuuri had never dared this much, and Viktor was vulnerable and wide eyed under him, tense, for a split second, before relaxing completely under his touch.

Yuuri bent on him, kissing him deeply. He pulled Viktor’s hands above his head and secured them under one of his, using the other to spread lube on Viktor’s length before gently, slowly lowering himself on him.

Viktor groaned, struggling under his hand while Yuuri threw his head back, moaning. He left Viktor’s hands and felt them on his face, guiding him down, down, until those lips met his.

“Yuuri… Золотце,” Viktor murmured against them, and Yuuri felt those hands move, skimming shoulders and ribs, flank and waist, until they got on his hips and gripped him hard, almost bruising (probably bruising, those he would never mind) and Yuuri let Viktor dictate their new rhythm. He lost the meaning of time while he lived every sensation, feeling the catch of their heated skin, Viktor’s soft moans or murmurs of his name, his own labored breathing, wash over him until white blinding climax surprised him, shocking him as Viktor stilled impossibly rigid under his thighs. Then, and only then, Yuuri left himself lay on his lover, let those arms close around him until he could no longer recognize where he finished and Vitya started. Their panting was the only sound Yuuri could hear. Not even the sticky come between them was enough to warrant moving. Especially when he just needed to turn his head slightly to kiss the marvelous man in front of him. “I love you,” he said, his voice stronger and more certain than he felt it had any right to be.

“I love you.” Viktor’s accented tone answered, just as certain, infinitely soft.

Yuuri didn’t remember dozing off, but he was no longer sticky, and now Viktor was holding him on his chest, legs entangled, his chin nuzzling his head, and his fiancé’s right hand was gently stroking his spine.

“I want to go to the rink tomorrow,” he said. Vitya’s hand stilled for a moment, just to resume stroking again, more purposefully. “I want to read that damn folder with you because I want to know how long I’ll be able to skate,” Viktor was still silent, but he was breathing harder, “Overall I want _you_ to keep skating.” He said. Viktor’s movement halted and the man turned towards him.

“Wh… what?”

“I’ve thought about it. I’m sure Mari will want me to go back to Japan. And if I were to go, I know you would drop everything to come with me,” Viktor interrupted.

“You can bet on it! I won’t leave you alone,” his voice broke “Please, don’t ask me to…” Yuuri put a finger on the trembling lips.

“I won’t. That’s why I’ll stay here. I’ll fight here. But I can only fight if you keep on skating. I cannot live in a world without it and there will be a time when I have to give it up, at least for a while. I need you to skate for me too.”

*** ***

Oh. Any protest died on Viktor’s lips. His Yuuri…

“Ok. But for now, you can skate yourself. Rink tomorrow, then?” he looked at Yuuri, who nodded.

“Yes. We have to talk with Yakov, and Yurio. And I imagine Mila and Georgi might know as well? They should, we train together…” Yuuri’s voice trailed into sadness.

“Don’t think about it, ok? I’ll take care of it. Just concentrate on your skating or you’ll be flubbing all your jumps.” His voice wavered, but Yuuri either didn’t notice or chose not to notice. His fiancé/protégé did, instead, choose to shut him up with a firm, fierce kiss.

“You love criticizing my jumps.”

“I love seeing you skate… and yes, criticizing your jumps too.” Viktor kissed him again and managed to get Yuuri to lie down once more, finally letting the day and fatigue drag them to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian translitterations and translations!! (please, if you spot something wrong, let me know!
> 
> Яков: Yakov. Self explanatory, I'd say.
> 
> Спасибо: Spasibo (pronounciation: Spasiba) = Thank you
> 
> Золотце: Zolotse = Gold. 
> 
> Viktor is a hopeless sap, and his use of endearments in Russian is the bane of my existence... also, he wants me to write them in Cyrillic, thus... This is not the end of those, though!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a new day, and Yuuri has decisions to take. What are the people around him going to do?

He hadn’t slept much, and the pillow was still damp when he woke up, groggy and puffy eyed.

Leukemia. Fucking leukemia

Sometimes it just seemed that life really wanted to fuck Katsudon up. It wasn’t fair.

He was early at the rink, not even Yakov had arrived yet. He took his time to warm up, trying to get himself lost in the repetitive movements. They would usually give him comfort, but… not that morning. His head was all over the place and if he didn’t settle down, practice would be useless.

A sound, a door opening, and two familiar voices growing nearer distracted him. Luckily still in his trainers, he turned towards the door of the warm-up room and saw when Viktor and Yuuri got in, skates draped on their backs like every day.

It could have been a normal morning.

It wasn’t.

He hadn’t realized he had moved until his arms were around the Japanese skater. Katsudon seemed stunned for a brief second, just the time for Yuri to doubt himself.

But then, those long graceful arms closed around him, followed by the dull sound of the skate bag falling on the ground. He heard a murmur of,

“There, there, Yurio… let it out, let it out.” in his ear, and Yuri wasn’t sure if Katsudon was talking to him. There was someone crying with big, ugly sobs in the room, but only when he felt Viktor’s hand on his hair, stroking it and murmuring platitudes too, did he understand that the crying and the sobbing came from himself.

_Duh._

So much for keeping it normal.

Neither Yuuri nor Viktor pushed him away, though. They let him cry on them, Yuuri let him cry on his chest about his leukemia.

Sometimes he was really just a child.

The sobs eventually died down, giving room to smaller hiccups, and Yuri felt a semblance of control come back. He pushed slightly, so that the man could let him up, and brought his hands on the older man’s shoulders.

“Don’t you dare, Katsudon, I won’t leave you the record out of pity.” He said, managing to keep his voice firm.

Yuuri hugged him tight again.

“You’ll have to fight me, don’t worry.” He said. Yuri turned his head on the shoulder so both older men could hear him.

“We’ll fight together.”

He pushed away, then, drying tears and snot ( _ugh_ ) with the sleeve of his jacket. “So? What are you waiting for? We have practice.” He said, once he had laced up his skates. He purposely walked towards the rink with his head held high.

*** ***

Practice had gone better than expected. Yurio’s reaction had surprised him, but hadn’t unbalanced him too much, apart from the realization that that boy was so different from the one he had met the previous year in Sochi. Mila and Georgi had been informed, and while they _had been_ nicer (Mila brought him water when he had to stop for a break and Georgi went out of his way to make him laugh with his antics), it hadn’t been weird. He had talked to Mari, who sounded desperate while telling him that she couldn’t find a flight so close to Christmas. He had reassured her, telling her he had an idea and that he would call her back. He had talked to Phichit, who didn’t say anything about _the massive elephant in the room_ , and was just happy to tell him everything about his hamsters and the upcoming Japanese National Championship gossip mill.

That’s where the idea took shape.

It was December 18th. He already had a flight booked for Japan. The folder he had begrudgingly read with Viktor that morning had said that he would probably need to start the treatments as soon as possible, but that it would take more exams to get a personalized chemo.

He had already booked those for the following day.

His flight was on December 21st.

He might not have a chance to perform again. He tried not to think about it, but he knew so many things could go wrong. And he didn’t want to regret this. He didn’t have any more time for regrets. He had this small window of semi-health, and he would make the most out of it.

He would go to the Japanese National Championship.

Then Viktor could join him for New Year’s Eve, as they had already planned, after Russia’s own nationals. He could spend some of his last good days for a while with his family, and gather strength to fight back.

He could do it.

He came back to the ice after resting and finalizing his idea. Viktor was practicing his free skate, and Yuuri didn’t disturb him. He nodded at Yakov who had eloquently raised his eyebrows at him, and Yuri, who was having a break, followed him on the ice, to spot for him.

Yuuri started skating his short program. Eros took a whole new layer of meaning: the will to live, to enjoy life, fully fueled his jumps, and he felt every movement more meaningful than before.

He didn’t realize until he stopped into the final pose, arms held high around his shoulders, eyes dropped to the floor in false demure, that everyone else had stopped to watch him.

The familiar light slide of a pair of skates made him look up, just to see Viktor come to him with awe in his eyes.

“I’m going to the nationals in Japan.”

*** ***

Japan? He had completely forgotten about the upcoming nationals, both Russian and Japanese.

Yuuri was looking at him with determination, and Viktor squashed the instinctual refusal that had wanted to come out first.

Yuuri had told him that he would keep skating as much as he could, and Viktor knew how bad he wanted to avenge the disastrous national championship that had led to his half year off.

He stood in front of his love and nodded, dumbfounded. He was half thinking to push back his return to after New Year day, when Yuuri added “And you’re going to the Russian nationals. I won’t see you off the ice, you promised.”

Viktor looked at him, and understood that he could not refuse him anything. Not in that moment, not when things were so raw.

“Someone has to come with you,” he said. He would not budge on it, at least. Yakov intervened.

“Lilia can go. She offered, last night, I would have told you later. And then Ms. Okukawa can come as your stand-in coach as agreed.” Yuuri looked at the older coach and nodded.

“Is this ok, Viktor?” he asked purposefully. Viktor felt weak, but nodded.

“I don’t like being apart from you. But I did promise, and as forgetful as I can be, I won’t break a promise.” Not to Yuuri.

“Right. So, it’s decided. Get back to your positions!” Yakov yelled, before getting close to Yuuri and clapping him on the shoulder. Yuuri smiled gratefully at the coach and Viktor felt a pleasant pang in his heart, swelling for his chosen family.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Japan Nationals and Russian Nationals ALMOST ALWAYS overlap at least partially, and almost ALWAYS the Russian ones fall on December 25th, Viktor's Birthday.
> 
> I had to do so much back and forth between time zones and old skating programs to get it right!! The dates of the short and free programs are all actual ones from the real-life championships!
> 
> Let's see how they handle all of this?

The two days leading to his departure had been stressful to say the least. But the doctors had all they needed to plan his medication program which would be ready for when he’d come back. He had talked with Mari and she had agreed to see him in Sapporo, and he had even managed not to cry when he had left for the airport.

Vitya hadn’t.

Yuuri felt _bad_.

He huffed, trying to find a more comfortable position. He remembered the flight to Beijing, just a few weeks before, when Vitya had complained about the cramped seat, said that he couldn’t possibly sleep, and had then proceeded to fall asleep on him. He ached for his love.

At his side, Lilia turned her stern expression on him.

“Are you alright, Katsuki?” she asked.

“Hmm…” he mumbled, “I could be worse, I guess. I had an ok night, although I hope the lack of practice won’t mess me up.”

“You’ll do your best. You know your programs very well and you trained intelligently. Focus on resting as much as you can, and to manage your energy levels accordingly.”

“Yeah…” The silence stretched for a few seconds. “Lilia-san?” the severe looking woman turned again towards him, just raising an eyebrow, “Thank you for coming with me. Usually I wouldn’t have problems, but…”

“These are not usual circumstances.”

“I’m sorry Viktor asked Yakov if you could come…”

“He didn’t.” she interrupted him.

“Uh?” this was new. Yuuri had really been convinced that Viktor had done it, if only because Yuuri didn’t think he would have relented as fast otherwise.

“Yura asked. He was worried about you being on your own, and it was obvious neither him nor Viktor could concentrate. I know you wouldn’t have liked it.”

Yurio. Yurio, who should have only thought about his first national championship in Senior division, had done this for him.

He couldn’t help marvelling at how the teen had grown since their first meeting, and felt his heart warmer because of it.

*** ***

They were in Yekaterinburg, finally, but Yakov had never felt less at ease. His skaters were off balanced and distracted and he knew he had to do something if he wanted them not to screw all their own hard work.

If only he had known what.

Katsuki’s sudden illness had stricken a deep chord in all of them, and he wasn’t left out either. But if Milochka and Gosha were at least able to concentrate on the ice, the same couldn’t be said for Vitya and Yura.

They weren’t doing anything wrong, _per se_. The jumps were clean, the spins perfectly rotated and on point, the form of the arms graceful… but there was no soul. It was like life itself had been sucked from those two. Yakov supposed it would work like that too, goodness knew they the two of them had talent in spades and could pull it off, but, first, Katsuki would not forgive them for moping instead of skating, and second, it seemed to Yakov as if those two had already given up on the Japanese, and it was not what they all needed. Especially Yuuri.

“Yura! Vitya! Come here!” both skaters glided towards their coach, looking at him expectantly. “What in the freezing depth of hell are you doing out there?” he barked out. When they looked at him in surprise, he closed the distance from the wall where his skaters’ hands were gripping the edge hard. He lowered his voice, keeping the steel. “What would Katsuki say about that? He’s in Japan, alone, just to hold on skating, on his dream, as long as he can, and he only asked you to do the same, to do as much as he’s doing, in much better conditions, and this is how you keep your promise?”

Silence fell. Yakov watched his skaters’ faces. They were stricken, at first: Vitya’s face fell like someone had kicked Makkachin, Yura’s did that strange thing where he tried to seem unfazed and utterly failed.

He nodded to them, and shooed both back to work. A hard-won smile spread behind the hand he had raised to his mouth, concealing it when he finally saw those idiots really doing their best.

At the end it didn’t surprise Yakov to see Viktor taking 1st place and Yura 2nd. He was glad this moment of weakness had happened far from Katsuki. He could only hope that the day after would be the same and that Katsuki did well in Japan.

*** ***

Never could Minako have imagined worse news than the one a crying Mari Katsuki had delivered her the previous week. Just the sight of a crying Mari had destabilized the usually cynic dancer.

They were currently travelling from the Sapporo Airport to the hotel where they had their room. Hopefully, Yuuri was there to wait for them.

Leukemia.

Minako had a vague idea of what it entailed, but she had opened more tabs on her laptop than she cared to share. She hitched to interrogate Yuuri, to know what kind it was, what the doctors said, what the plan was.

She knew she shouldn’t do any of it.

If there was one thing in which Yuuri had been adamant during their phone calls, it was that his illness was an off-limits topic if he didn’t broach the subject first. And that was not negotiable

Minako had rarely heard her protégé so determined, and it sealed the deal.

Mari was quiet. She was usually harsh, sometimes mocking with Yuuri, but she was always on his side. Minako knew she was hurt by Yuuri’s decision to stay in Russia, but she could understand his reasons for it. He loved his family and being in Hasetsu would have meant hurting them, and Nikiforov would have surely followed, leaving skating and concentrating only on him. A nightmare for Yuuri, basically, who hated being coddled even for a small cold, he always said that it made him feel even weaker. In Russia, he could distract himself with skating, and distract Viktor too.

Apparently, Yuuri was still thinking about protecting everyone else first, and himself second. The taxi stopped in front of the hotel and the two women were dragged out of their silent musings.

Mari shoot a text to Yuuri while Minako took the key for their room from the reception: the phone pinged just as they were putting their luggage at the foot of the bed, and they went in search of Yuuri; their rooms were on the same floor, they found his room just a couple doors down.

Minako raised a hand to knock, but Mari anticipated her.

Not even two seconds later Yuuri opened the door, training clothes on.

Honestly, Yuuri didn’t seem ill. He was pale, and had some shadows under his eyes, but it always happened when he travelled internationally. There was a split moment in which they all could have denied everything, ignored the elephant in the room. Just a split second. Then, Yuuri’s face crumbled, his eyes filled with tears and Minako and Mari were quick in enveloping their young man in their arms, shutting the door behind them. Big, ugly sobs moved Yuuri’s shoulders, and Minako couldn’t do anything but hold on tighter, and she felt Mari do the same, as they waited for him to ride it out.

“I thought I had already let it all out. This was not how I wanted this to go.” He complained, drying his tears.

“You’re an idiot.” Mari sobbed.

“Thanks for letting me cry on you.” He said, almost formally. That boy, seriously…

Minako guided him to the bed and sat down at his side, the bed dipping down when Mari did the same on the other.

“How are you holding up?” Mari asked, carding her fingers in Yuuri’s hair.

“Better than I thought, but it’s tough. Being with Viktor usually helps, he’ll let me cry or distract me, or we’re training and I can forget it for a while. Then I get dizzy and I have to stop. At the rink they don’t comment on it, it helps...” He answered, and Minako noted that, for once, he didn’t seem to isolate himself so much.

“Did you travel alone?” Mari asked.

“No. Lilia came with me. Yurio asked her, if you believe it.” Yuuri gave them a small smile.

“That boy cares more than he wants to admit.” Minako said with a grin.

“I never wanted him to… I don’t know, I suppose I thought I could spare him, but life isn’t fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, no. But he’s strong and I cannot imagine how angry he would have been if you hadn’t told him.” his sister reminded him.

Yuuri nodded, and smiled, asking them about his parents and Hasetsu. It was obvious that Yuuri wanted to change the topic, and they let him, catching-up for the rest of the visit.

The following day was the short program day. Minako got in Coach Mode but she was happy to share the duty with Madame Baranovskaya. They had known each other in their younger days of ballet, Lilia a famous Prima, and Minako a young upcoming new star: she had been one of her inspirations, if not for the style, at least for the professional way to handle fame and work and stress. They had been watching Yuuri practice for a while now, the severe looking woman tracking his movements and arms and feet placement as if by habit. He was moving less but with increased precision, as if more mindful of his body than ever, and that was the only outward signal that something wasn’t right.

As for the practice? It had been years since she had seen him skate so clear-headed.

His jumps were clean, sharp even, the edges neat, the step sequence even more entrancing than usual, flowing like water.

“He’s determined.” Madame Baranovskaya said.

“I’ve never seen him like this.” Minako answered.

“He’s going through a rougher patch than most. But he’s strong. We need to be as strong as him.”

“I hope we can be. I didn’t want to ask him but… how are Viktor and Yurio?” she had been worried about those two, too.

The Russian ballerina hummed.

“They put up a brave front as much as they can. Yakov said he had to rein them in before the championship, but that they did well.”

“Yes, we saw their programs on Youtube yesterday. Yuuri talked with them too, but we left him alone for that.” Although it had been strange hearing him making critics to Nikiforov’s jumps, of all things.

“They try to do their best not to upset him, at least publicly. At home, I hope they don’t try to hide from one another.”

Minako could not answer, because in that moment she saw Yuuri coming towards them.

“All done, Yuuri?” Minako asked, taking in his slightly labored breath, and handling him some water.

“Yeah. Let’s go to the hotel, I need a shower.” He hid well his tiredness. Minako knew, though, that after a bit of rest, he could finish this.

He had to.

*** ***

Viktor had really put all of himself in the morning practice, Yakov’s words from the day before shocking him (and Yura) out of his funk. He would have never forgiven himself if he had given less than his best, he knew Yuuri would see it and he would have been furious.

They had talked after his short program. Yuuri had told him about Minako’s and Mari’s arrival, and about his breakdown. Viktor had ached to be there with him, and had almost told him about the batshit craziness he had planned for the day after, but didn’t really want to ruin the surprise.

He switched his laptop on the official JSF streaming for the Japan National Championship: the short program was due to start in twenty minutes or so. He was just going to call the room service for something to eat, when someone knocked on the door. Preparing to thank the umpteenth fan who had decided to invade his privacy, he opened it with a pleasant if fake smile, just to find Yura in front of him. The teen didn’t even say hello.

“Well? Is the site loading?” he asked, barging in like he did in his apartment in St. Petersburg.

“It was five seconds ago. Do you want something to eat?” Viktor asked, taking the entrance in stride.

“Yeah, at least I won’t risk finding some Yuri’s angel downstairs. I’m not in the mood.”

Viktor could only sympathize with that. He ordered food for both of them while Yura settled on the bed: Viktor’s worry for Yuuri didn’t mean that he couldn’t worry for the teen as well; Yura had been the one to point out how unusual falling from a double axel was for Yuuri, which had prompted the visit… he had been the second person to know when it had all been raw and painful; not that it wasn’t painful still, but it had become a dull pulse that came back when he less expected it. He had seen the way Yura had been distracted at practice the day before, but he too had been too immersed in his own pain to do something about it. Yura was a kid, though, and he shouldn’t have had to worry about things alone.

Another knock on the door broke Viktor from his train of thoughts, and he opened it, thanking and tipping the waiter. The food had arrived faster than expected, and Viktor rolled the cart next to the bed as soon as he had closed the door. He sat down next to Yura, in front of the laptop, and draped an arm over his shoulders; he was surprised when the boy didn’t push him away, but let Viktor pull him against his side, as it hadn’t happened in like ever.

In Japan, the first group was warming up, and Viktor recognized his own costume on his Yuuri even from the distant shot of the camera.

Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away from the screen, and directed them on Yura. The boy’s eyes were seemingly on the screen, but Viktor could see some wetness rolling on his nose.

“Hey,” he started, softly, and Yura sniffled and hastily dried his face, before turning slightly towards him, “How do you feel?”

“I’m not ill, why are you worrying about me?” Yura’s tone strained to be harsh, but missed the usual bite. Viktor tightened his arm around the teen.

“It doesn’t mean that you aren’t hurting as well. Or that you shouldn’t.” an uneasy silence fell for almost a minute, while he waited for the other to answer.

“It was not meant to be like this.” Yura said, words slurred, as if they had rushed out of his mouth before he could stop them, “We had to be all competing and not worrying about _dying_.” Viktor hugged him with both arms when Yura turned his face to his chest: his eyes weren’t dry either.

“No, it wasn’t.” he agreed, bringing his hand up to caress the blonde’s hair, who burrowed more in the hug, “And we both hate it. But we wouldn’t be fair to Yuuri if we tried to be stoic about this.”

“He’s trying to.” Yura protested.

“He’s not very good at it, and he loathes asking for help.” Viktor kept on.

“Unless he’s drunk.” The teen added cheekily, making him powerless against the laugh-sob that got out of him.

“He doesn’t ask when he’s drunk, he bosses you around... He hates asking for help and I know I won’t be always the best to help him. Or I will need help myself. And even you will need help, and we’re all here for each other, ok?” Viktor didn’t know if what he had just said had made sense. Yura nodded slowly. Maybe it had.

“I’m not very well.” the teen said in the end. “Do you mind me here?”

“Never. And even Yuuri will tell you that we’ll never mind having you around, ok?”

“Yeah. Oh, it’s starting.” He slowly got up from the hug, and Viktor let him, passing him the food while the first skater started. Yuuri would be out soon, and the two Russians discussed techniques and points of the other skaters while eating.

And when Yuuri’s Eros routine started, they held each other’s hand until the end, when they cheered on the great performance Yuuri had given to Japan and to the ice.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Nationals...

His arms around himself, toe-pick planted on the ice, breath coming short – shorter than he was used to, but he didn’t linger on that thought. The music had stopped, the roaring sound of the cheering public taking its place, Yuuri was dimly aware of the speakers commenting his performance.

He had given everything, his head clear, the only thoughts were about making Viktor proud and giving thanks to the ice that kept him alive. Slowly, he released himself from the ending pose. His legs trembled, and he masked the momentary weakness by bowing to the enthusiastic crowd, taking a couple of the plushies that landed closer to him. Then, slowly but surely, he made his way to the Kiss and Cry, where Minako waited for him with tears in her eyes and a huge smile. He put the blade-guards on, and then thankfully sank in her arms, letting her keep him up for a second. Behind Minako, Lilia was smiling – a rare sight in itself, but this was the first time he noticed that expression aimed at him – and nodding, coming up to drape his jacket on his shoulders. He smiled gratefully. They sat down, Yuuri, once again composed, between the two women, waiting for the scores to come up.

“You were wonderful,” Minako said, “Whatever your score is, you have inspired everyone here. I’m so proud of you, Yuuri-kun.”

Yuuri smiled at his ballet teacher and hugged her again.

It was broken by the speaker’s voice booming,

“And the short program score for Yuuri Katsuki is… 102.63! This puts him in first place…”

He cheered for the score, giving himself some moments to just be happy, and even a tiny bit proud, then he waved at the cameras, and went out, towards the changing rooms. He managed, with Minako’s help, to dodge the interviews for the time being. He really needed to sit down and take a breather. That was the part he hated more: the breathlessness reminded him of panic attacks, but there was no technique to help him with those, he could only wait for it to pass, for his heart to stop beating madly trying to get oxygen everywhere. Lost in these thoughts, and luckily out of everyone’s eyes – but Minako’s – he stumbled. Yuuri caught himself with a hand, heavily slapping it on the wall, palm and fingers smarting, while Minako steadied him.

“Take it easy, Yuuri.” she said, stroking his back like she used to when he fell at her dance lessons.

He _hated_ this. He hated these spells of dizziness, he hated feeling like the air was never enough, it felt like he was drowning. But he was determined to face this on his own terms, on the ice and outside. He nodded at Minako, and inside the changing rooms, he sat down heavily on the bench. He was gathering the strength to unlace his skates when his phone vibrated and Minako handed it to him with a smile. Yuuri didn’t understand, but then he saw Viktor’s face on the screen and took it, tapping the green button.

“You were magnificent!” Viktor said with awe in his voice.

“I scored better in China,” Yuuri answered, letting his fiancé’s voice wash over him.

“You know I wasn’t talking about the scores.” A strange sound interrupted Viktor, and Yuuri’s eyebrows knitted. A different voice greeted him.

“They underscored you, obviously, duh!” Yuuri smiled.

“Yurio… thank you.”

“Oh, please, don’t go mushy on me. I’m going now. Viktor, don’t be late, we cannot disappoint Katsudon with a sloppy free skate because you were too busy making cow eyes at the phone. Bye Katsudon.”

“Bye, Yurio.” A moment of silence followed, until Yuuri heard the door closing on the other side.

“How do you feel?” Viktor asked, worry tainting his voice. “You seemed tired.”

“I am. Was it very evident?” he asked back.

“To me and Yurio, yes. To anyone else, no. Do you still want to make the public announcement?”

“Yeah. If I get to go, after the exhibition skate. Phichit suggested, and I quote, ‘that I take control of the news instead of being controlled by the news’. Apparently, leaving them speculating would transform them in stalkers.” he said, trying to sound as convinced as possible.

“You don’t have anything to be ashamed of,” Viktor replied, his voice firm and warm from the other side of the phone, clearly aware of his hesitance.

“I know,” Yuuri replied softly, and as happy as he was that Viktor knew him so well, he didn’t want to talk about this anymore and he had something better in mind, “I know this is not how you wanted it, but… happy birthday.” He smiled at his fiancé.

“We’ll celebrate together, I’ll be happy then.” Viktor replied, sending him a kiss through the screen. “I love you. I have to go.”

“I’m going to watch you. Don’t be lazy, I want to see a gold medal on you when we meet in Hasetsu.” Yuuri told him.

“And I on you. Rest up, let Minako and Mari pamper you a bit, okay?”

“Ok. Love you.”

“Love you.”

Yuuri reluctantly closed the phone call. Breath back to normal, dizziness passed, he drank the water Minako had left him and unlaced his skates. He could do it. He needed to.

*** ***

He had never given up an exhibition skate, but this time he actually felt like he was trading it for another.

Viktor had won gold again on his return, Yura wore the silver and Georgi had taken the bronze, for the utter satisfaction of Yakov. As for the exhibition, Viktor had talked with the FFKK, and they had strangely been compliant with him. It might have had something to do with Yakov. Or with him winning a gold after half season off.

He was on his flight from Moscow to Tokyo. Mila, Georgi and Yura had seen him off at the airport and everyone had hugged him extra-tight (yes, even a grumbling Yura). He wasn’t used to it anymore. It had been nice to rediscover the ties and the love in his rink-family, even if he would have gladly avoided the circumstances. He was so grateful for them, for the way they took care of him and of Yuuri, the small attentions that made things a tad easier: The easy affection, sometimes the sudden hugs or pats on his back when he needed them; he had isolated himself so much in the years, he thought he had lost it. He hadn’t been the best of friends, and, sometimes, he felt overwhelmed. He didn’t know how to show them his appreciation, and he had said so to Georgi once: they had shared the rink for so long, same age, same group… and Georgi, in true Popovich style, had said,

“Just the fact that you’re accepting our help is a sign that you consider us friends, that you care for us. And we know that you’ll help us if we need you, because you’ve always done that.” He had turned and put a hand on his shoulder then. “Even when you were off being a lone jackass, you still helped us: you found Mila a better sponsor when the one she had wanted her to do questionable photos, you taught Yura how to deal with his crazy fans, you brought me out when one of my one too many love stories ended in tears. You just never let us pay you back. We’re glad we can be there for you, and for Katsuki as well.”

He felt tired. He had already dealt with Aeroflot being late, but the waiting time between a flight and the other was long enough to make up for it. He would be exhausted by the time he arrived in Sapporo, but it would be worth it to see his Yuuri’s face when he joined him on the ice.

He had had just the time to watch Yuuri’s free skate, and call him to congratulate on the gold.

His performance had hypnotized him. Once again, Yura had joined him and they had seen and commented on the others together, and if when Yuuri had been on ice, once again pale but otherwise eerily normal, Yura had searched for his hand and held it until the end, he didn’t comment on it.

He wasn’t even sure if it had been him comforting Yura or the other way around.

It had been so difficult for Viktor not to tell anything to Yuuri, but after all the planning… he really wanted to surprise him. Viktor loved surprises. (Yuuri not so much, usually, but he knew he would love this one!)

He tried to get some shuteye on the plane. He actually hated travelling on night flights, as they tended to mess up with his sleep schedule, but he didn’t mind it in this case. If only he could shut his brain. Instead, it had decided to treat him with a word by word rendition of the night before Yuuri left for Japan.

They had been in bed, curled around each other, and Yuuri had been playing with Viktor’s hair.

_“When I do the chemo,” Yuuri started, voice low, slightly wavering. Viktor emitted a pained noise but otherwise kept silent, waiting for him to continue, “I’ll probably lose my hair. I know some people like to do grand gestures, and you usually love them, Mr. I’ll-kiss-you-on-the-ice-in-worldwide-television,” Viktor kissed Yuuri on his lips._

_“You loved it.”_

_“Yes, I did. I love you. But don’t sidetrack me, it’s important. If I lose my hair, I absolutely forbid you from cutting yours. Or anyone else, for that matter. It was already traumatic seeing you going from waist length to this.” Yuuri was trying to lighten the mood, but Viktor got_ _what he really meant: he would see himself change drastically, and wanted those around him to keep being normal. Viktor changed his hold on Yuuri, enveloping him in his arms, lips on the man’s forehead, legs entangling with each other._

_“I promise I won’t. But you have to promise me something back.” Yuuri emitted an interrogative sound, “You can’t be strong for everyone. You can’t bear everything on your shoulders like it doesn’t influence other people. It’s ok to need help, to need a hug, a good cry, it’s always ok, not just in this case, ok? But in this specific case, please, don’t shut me out. Let me help you. Let me be strong for you.” Yuuri buried his face in Viktor’s chest at that, and his silent sobs broke Viktor’s heart, but he held Yuuri’s body close to his, murmuring sweet nothings in his hair. The extraordinary man in his arms just nodded, and Viktor accepted it._

In that moment, on the plane, in the dark and surrounded by strangers, Viktor allowed himself silent tears.

‘Yuuri, Золотце I’ll be with you soon.’

*** ***

Chris was preparing for a nice night in, for once. He always enjoyed the post-Christmas laziness, and that December 26th was no exception: he always liked seeing the other competitors, and, in that case, it doubled the pleasure because Yuuri was, somewhat, a friend (and the boyfriend/fiancé of his best friend, and cute, and that was a plus) and this was his comeback to nationals. He had watched eagerly his free program and cheered when he had won the gold. Now, pop-corn and a bottle of beer at hand, he was ready to finally watch the exhibition skate.

He was sure that Yuuri would bring “Stammi Vicino” again, and while Chris was very familiar with the program, he was curious to see it by Yuuri (and not in a sometimes-pixelated YouTube video).

As gold medalist, he was the last one to perform before the end of the evening.

One thing that Chris adored about his apartment was the huge 60” LED TV color, one of the best; that was one of the reasons why, even with the make-up, he noticed Katsuki’s paleness as soon as he got into the ice, cheering crowd all around, spotlight on him, darkening the ice around. Well, he had gone from Barcelona, to Japan, to St Petersburg and back to Sapporo in like three weeks, so maybe that was it, he thought.

The Exhibition began, and the close up on Yuuri’s face gave Chris a strange, almost nauseous feeling. Something wasn’t adding up. But then the Japanese gold medalist started skating, the familiar notes of Stammi Vicino drifted into the room, and the jumps were beautiful, even the quadruple flip. The triple axel should have given way to a step sequence, but as the camera caught Yuuri’s surprised expression, Chris laughed out loud when a familiar purple jacket came into view and a tired, jet-lagged (he had been in Russia until the day before!) Viktor Nikiforov skated onto the ice, taking Yuuri in his arms. Yuuri’s face animated with glee, glowing in the lights of the ice rink.

As they had done in the exhibition skate at the Grand Prix, they morphed the step sequence into ice dance. Viktor lifted Yuuri, and they skated enchantingly in a routine that had nothing left to chance, not even when they switched roles and the lifted became the lifter. The last one, a slow standing spin, where a body melted in the other in the movement, ended in the final pose that had made him bawl his eyes out at the Grand Prix Final: Yuuri had his right knee on the floor, the left toe-pick planted in the ice. He was curled forward, towards Viktor, who was on his back, the length of his spine draped on Yuuri’s left knee, Viktor’s right one stabilizing them on the ice, the other artistically bent to plant the toe-pick down, his head thrown back. Viktor’s arms encircled Yuuri’s head resting on his chest, their eyes closed, faces happy, chests heaving from the exertion.

It was a thing of beauty.

Until it wasn’t.

The close up on their faces meant that Chris could watch, incredulous, as Katsuki’s face lost all color, his eyelid fell closed and the shoulders went slack, while Vitya scrambled to his knees, keeping the unconscious man cradled against his chest.

The unforgiving camera registered the shock and horror on Viktor’s face, while he frantically cupped Yuuri’s unresponsive head in his hands. Chris saw actual tears and terror spread on his friend’s face, and he knew: that lingering sense of wrongness he had felt wasn’t a capricious fruit of his mind.

There was something terribly wrong with Katsuki.

The medical personnel put the man on a stretcher and the cameras panned out while he was brought out of the rink, Viktor visibly sick with freight on their heels.

Chris clicked the mute button of his remote and fished his phone from between the cushions of the sofa. Rapidly, he opened the contact app and clicked on the Vitya in his favorite list, walking up and down in the sitting room, ignoring the speculating journalists gesturing on TV. He let the phone rang at length, then it disconnected and Chris tried again.

And again.

And again.

Until, on the sixth call, the line connected.

The man on the other side hadn’t uttered a word, but just the labored and wet breath made Chris’ instincts prickle like a hedgehog.

“Vitya, what’s going on?” he asked, not unkindly. Viktor didn’t answer immediately, but when he did, his words (“Chris… Yuuri…”) were so broken that he could barely recognize his usually collected and charming best friend.

“Vitya, you need to breathe… I know you know how to do this, so, please, take a breath…” he told him calmly, coaxing Viktor in some deeper breaths, and when the panic got under control, he asked. “What’s going on with Katsuki? I saw him faint, and he was surely pale, but you wouldn’t be this distraught for a simple fainting spell.” Chris waited patiently for the man to answer or to tell him to mind his own business.

“It’s bad, Chris.” Viktor said. And then, with barely a hint of voice “Leukemia.”

Chris stopped on his feet and it felt like that time the ice was too soft at a competition, like falling and dreading it.

What the eternal fuck.

“Viktor, are you with him now?” A moment of silence, probably Viktor nodding or shaking his head and forgetting he was on the phone.

“N… No. He’s with the medics.”

“Is there anyone else with you?”

“Yuuri’s sister is with him. Minako, his dance teacher, and Madame Lilia are keeping the journalists away.”

“Ok. Tell me everything, Vitya, I cannot possibly let Katsuki find you like this.” His breathing was still hard and fast, and he could just imagine him pacing nervously, aimlessly, and Chris prayed that Katsuki didn’t go looking for videos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian:  
> Золотце = Gold literally. It's Viktor's favourite endearment for his Yuuri!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri did want to make a statement to the press, but well... not really this way. Vitya to the rescue!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being a bit late, my Beta had a busy week and she sent me the chapter a bit later!! But here it is!!

He didn’t feel cold, which was the last thing he remembered feeling.

He heard the faint sound of a drop falling into water. At home, the faucet in the kitchen didn’t have a leak, though. Neither the one in the bathroom.

He tried to open his eyes, groaning softly when the light hit them. A bit of nervousness crept in, he didn’t know where he was, but calmed down as soon as he heard the small, somewhat scared,

“Yuuri?” on his side. Viktor’s voice. He turned towards it and blinked owlishly, unable to focus. Viktor’s hands came closer holding something wiry and indefinite, and Yuuri found himself with his glasses on his nose.

As soon as he could make Viktor’s face out, he smiled.

“How are you here? You should be in Russia.” He said, his voice weaker than he expected. Vitya’s face did a strange thing and his eyes filled with tears, and Yuuri ended up with an armful of careful fiancé on his chest. Yuuri hugged him back, and that was when he saw the IV drip on his hand.

 _Oh_.

“I came here to join you at the exhibition skate,” Viktor said against the column of his neck, “I wanted to surprise you.”

“I was very surprised,” he assured Viktor, “What happened then? It’s a bit foggy.”

“We finished our duet, as usual, and you passed out right after. The doctor said it was because of the low blood pressure, they put you on saline and recommended rest.”

Viktor still felt too tense in his arms,

“Vitya… what aren’t you telling me?” he asked, careful, and maybe slightly suspicious. Viktor looked away and didn’t answer for a few seconds, biting his lower lip slightly, and then, with a sigh, he looked back at him.

“We were on TV. Chris says that my reaction tipped everyone off. Phichit actually recommends not to go online. Not until we get the statement out.” Viktor kissed Yuuri’s forehead. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me?”

Yuuri looked at him with disbelief. _Sorry? And for what?_

“Why are you sorry? For loving me? For being afraid, frightened probably? For being here at my side when I need you the most, my steadfast Viten’ka?” When Viktor didn’t answer, Yuuri smiled and brought the hand without the drip to cup his cheek. The man pressed his face into the touch, exhaling slowly, relaxing slightly. “You have nothing to be forgiven for. I hope you’ll forgive me for scaring you.” Viktor whimpered, turning his head to kiss the palm of his hand. “Come on, hop in, I need you to hold me, and we’ll talk about the press statement later. It was mostly ready, anyway.”

Yuuri was glad to promptly share the narrow bed.

They were silent for a while, before Viktor’s word came back to his mind.

“Wait, you said Chris. Giacometti?” Viktor nodded.

“When he saw what was happening, he called me… he managed to calm me down. Mari was talking with the doctors, Minako and Lilia were keeping the reporters at bay. I was useless.” Seeing Viktor so self-deprecating wasn’t something he was used to. Was this how Vitya felt when he did it to himself?

“Well, I _was_ passed out, so even less useful than you. Please, don’t transform in me, it’s awkward.” He said to Viktor, chuckling lightly, and the man looked at him.

“I don’t know how you do this.” Viktor’s voice was faint, but Yuuri could hear the disbelief in it.

“We cannot be both down at the same time, and I basically slept, while you freaked out. I’m pretty sure that soon it’ll be the other way around.” He answered, tenderly caressing his head.

“Probably. Do you want to do the statement or do you want me to do it?”

“Can I be a coward and ask you to do that?” his fiancé turned towards him.

“You aren’t, you’ve never been and you’ll never be a coward. And sure, I’ll do that, it’ll be my pleasure to do that for you. Then, we’ll leave for Hasetsu. We need the hot baths.”

“Sounds like a plan.” They snuggled together, lulling each other to sleep with tired kisses.

*** ***

**ISU WEBSITE – LATEST PRESS RELEASE FROM JSF – KATSUKI YURI**

The world of Figure skating lived with dread the minutes after Yuri Katsuki’s gold medalist exhibition skate at the Japanese National Championship, when the skater, who was performing with his coach, Viktor Nikiforov, lost consciousness on the ice at the end of the program.

A medical team was immediately dispatched and Katsuki brought to the infirmary.

Although the Japanese medics assured us that the fainting spell had simply been due to an episode of low blood pressure and that Katsuki would soon recover, Nikiforov’s own reaction started a rumor mill that made the rounds of social media.

Sadly, it appears like some of the speculations was proven right as Nikiforov himself called a press conference for this morning. Sided by Lilia Baranovskaya, former Prima Ballerina at the Bolshoi and current dance instructor for Team Russia, and Minako Okukawa, former ballerina and recipient of a Benois de la Danse, Katsuki’s own dance teacher, Katsuki’s coach and Russian gold medalist at the recent Russian nationals Viktor Nikiforov addressed the journalists saying that, at that time, he would not answer any question, and that everything they needed do know was in the statement he was going to read.

Here you can find the complete transcription.

“Good morning to everyone and thank you for coming despite such a short notice. Yuuri would have wanted to be here himself, but he’s still resting and recovering from yesterday as per medical instruction, so, that is why I am addressing you instead of him.

I am going to read a statement by Yuuri Katsuki himself.

> _First things first, I want to thank all of you for your support and I want to apologize for the scare I gave you yesterday. Rest assured it was not my intention. Sadly, sometimes in life it is not possible to do only what we would like to do._
> 
> _As of less than two weeks ago, I found myself in one of such predicaments in life when a person is forced to deal with more than they had thought possible. Suddenly, my stage-fright at interviews and nervousness before a competition seemed nothing, in comparison. Only thanks to my wonderful family, endlessly supporting coach Viktor and my closest friends I have found the courage to face said predicament head first._
> 
> _I was adamant in skating at the Japanese National Championship, not only to redeem my underwhelming performance of last year, but above all because I knew that, for a good while at least, it would have been my last chance to skate competitively at top level._
> 
> _I have, in fact, to announce that I am withdrawing from the rest of the figure skating competitions of this year._
> 
> _I’m going to face the hardest of days in my immediate future, and I’ll have to fight not for a gold medal, but for a much simpler and basic thing: my life._
> 
> _I have been diagnosed with leukemia, and I will soon start the treatments. I will not go in details, those are personal and I will be really grateful if you respect my privacy, just know that your support will be most welcome, and that I have my family, friends, rink-mates and coach on my side. I will not go down without a fight._
> 
> _I only hope I will be able to come back to the ice in the future._
> 
> _Thanks for your attention._
> 
> _Katsuki Yuuri_

Nikiforov, Baranovskaya and Okukawa then left the room, without any further comment.

We, from ISU, wish Katsuki a swift recovery and hope to see him back in the game soon.

**TWITTER**

phichit+chu: @skater-katsuki Yuuri Katsuki is one of the strongest people I know and I expect you all to cheer for him #cheerforyuuri

sala-crispino: @skater-katsuki When it hits one of us, it hits everyone. My heart is with you, Yuuri, I know you can pull through! FORZA YUURI! #cheerforyuuri

mickey-crispino: @skater-katsuki You’re making my sister cry! Don’t you dare! #cheerforyuuri

otabek-altin: @skater-katsuki You cannot give up, Katsuki. See you on the ice. #cheerforyuuri

celestino_cialdini: @skater-katsuki #cheerforyuuri I believe in you, Yuuri! DAI, FORZA!

ice-tiger: @skater-katsuki No easy way out, Katsudon! I’ll still beat you on the free skate, but only if you’re there on the ice with me #cheerforyuuri

minami_k: @skater-katsuki My favorite skater ever, don’t give up, you never give up! #cheerforyuuri

Seung_Gil_Lee: @skater-katsuki #cheerforyuuri 4CC won’t be the same without you, be back soon.

emil-neko: @skater-katsuki I already miss your post-skate hugs, hurry back! #cheerforyuuri

Jjleroy!15: @skater-katsuki King JJ commands you to heal up! Waiting for you on the ice, Katsuki, don’t disappoint me. #cheerforyuuri

Virtue and Moir Official: @skater-katsuki We’d love you to skate our steps again, swift recovery, dear friend. #cheerforyuuri

Morooka: @skater-katsuki I hope in a swift recover and that you get back on ice! #cheerforyuuri

**WhatsApp**

**Жолбарис**

Are you ok? I read about Katsuki.

Why shouldn’t I?

Because you wouldn’t have written that tweet otherwise.

I’m not the ill one 

It doesn’t mean that it doesn’t affect you.

I said I’m fine

No, you didn’t. I’m calling you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Жолбарис - zholvaris - Kazakh: Tiger
> 
> I either invented the Twitter Handles or I just used their insta handles.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hasetsu!!

He was finally home. Her baby boy, her ill baby boy was in her arms again. She didn’t cry, the gods knew she had done it enough after Viktor’s call. Her boys had been through so much. Seeing Yuuri faint at the exhibition had been heart-wrenching, as if everything were crumbling apart, and Viktor’s naked fear had only broken her heart more.

Luckily, Mari had called few minutes later and reassured them that while it was most probably due to his condition, it wasn’t life threatening in the immediate future, and that their flight was confirmed for the following day.

Hiroko hadn’t gone to the airport, seeing her son for the first time after the diagnosis of his illness would be hard, and she didn’t want to be in public if she lost her composure.

Or if Yuuri did.

As soon as she enveloped him in her arms, he seemed to relax. She saw Viktor take the luggage and walk towards the room the two men shared, giving her a strained smile that she tried her best to return over Yuuri’s shoulder, grateful for the opportunity to just be alone with her son for a while. Hiroko tightened her hold on Yuuri when she first felt his shoulders trembling.

“Okaasan,” his voice was small and afraid.

“I know, baby boy. Don’t hold back, you’ve had some stressful days.” She murmured, and wished with all herself that she could shield him more.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you first.” Yuuri said, apologizing first thing, it was so typical of him that it made her feel a little better.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Viktor told us you were pretty out of it, and with every right, I’d say.”

“I asked him to call everyone… he felt worse than me at the end.”

“Still, he did it. He loves you, Yuuri, and he wants to help you however possible.” She said, rocking Yuuri side to side. She guided him towards one of the tables where a teapot was steaming, and prepared two mugs of hot fragrant tea. They were ignored in favor of Yuuri tucking himself at his mother’s side, like he used to do when he was much smaller, much younger.

“I’m scared, mama.”

“I know, Yuuri. We’re too. It must not mess with us enjoying each other, though.” She said, with conviction, treading her fingers in his hair.

“I need to talk with you about the treatments. Just… don’t make me repeat it more than once, please. Can it wait until everyone is here? Not the twins, I don’t want to tell them, but the rest of them...”

“Sure, Yuuri. We’ll do it when you want to, and Takeshi will be okay with the girls for a few hours.”

Yuuri snorted.

“I don’t know about that.”

Hiroko smiled and chuckled. Her son, so hesitant over small things, infinitely brave when things became really difficult. She only hoped that the gods granted her wishes.

They all had dinner together. While the dinner itself had been pleasant, and Yuuri had seemed to enjoy himself (and had eaten two servings of Katsudon, well earned), as soon as Takeshi had brought Loop, Lutz and Axel home, every face had turned somber.

Yuuri, with incredible steadiness, had told them about the treatment, holding one of Viktor’s hands tightly in his. He had explained that Yakov had called doctors from Germany to analyze everything and that he’d be in the best of care.

Hiroko was leaning on her husband, trusting him to catch every necessary information, and was looking at Yuuri and Viktor. Yuuri seemed calmer, the Russian man’s presence clearly a balm for his nerves. He answered everyone’s questions, or sometimes Viktor would, but her “old” Yuuri would have probably found an excuse to go away as soon as possible. Now he faced the world head high. And although she would have loved for him to come home to be taken care of, she understood that it wasn’t just her caring for her sweet boy anymore.

She knew better than to trust Viktor’s collected demeanor, though. She could see how every reminder of Yuuri’s illness hurt him. He had dark shadows under his eyes and his mouth was often pulled in a tight thin line, just to relax and smile warmly when Yuuri looked at him, the affection that shone in the man’s eyes was endless.

When illnesses stroke, young loves were usually put to test more harshly than others, but Hiroko knew their love could stand the hits of fate. She hugged her husband tighter while the topic shifted on the plans for the following days.

*** ***

A soft knock at his bedroom door woke him completely, and Mari’s voice, softened by the wood, told him breakfast was ready. he had plans, he would go to Ice Castle and spend some time with Yuuko, if he felt up to it. Sitting up, Yuuri took stock of himself. No dizziness and the air of home (or the katsudon) had given him a good day. He wouldn’t overexert himself, but he could goof around with his friends. He would take advantage of good days as long as he could.

He turned his attention to Viktor, who hadn’t stirred at his side. He was on his back, with his head slightly turned towards Yuuri, completely lost to the world. His long fringe was spread on the pillow on his left side and his lips were slightly parted. His hands rested palm up on the pillow next to his head, bent in a loose fist.

The night before he had stumbled on the stairs, exhausted by the long days and stress. Yuuri felt his lips bend in a sweet smile and couldn’t resist dropping a light kiss on Vitya’s forehead. The man didn’t even register it.

He got slowly out of the bed, finding pen and paper to leave a message to his worn-out lover, and went down to have breakfast and start enjoying the day.

*** ***

It was cold inside the rink, but it was that kind of cold that warmed Yuuko’s heart. Some of her best memories were on that ice. Starting with her first pair of skates, all the time spent with Yuuri, Takeshi proposing, the first skates of the girls…

It was hard, now, as she waited for Yuuri: she just wanted to give him a bit of normalcy, to build with him some more happy memories to carry them through.

She busied herself checking the blades of the rental skates, putting the dull ones on a side for Takeshi to sharpen them. She hated when, at other rinks, she found them too dull, making it easier to fall. People should have fun on the ice, not struggle with a flat blade.

The door opened, finally, and she smiled when she saw a bundled up Yuuri coming in. It was surreal how normal he seemed.

“Good morning, Yuuri-kun!” Yuuko welcomed him in, and patted herself on the back for keeping her voice normal. Yuuri got rid of his mask and coat and smiled to her.

“Good morning Yu-chan! Ready to skate?” he asked, grinning.

“Go warm up, I’m finishing this row and joining you! Where’s Viktor?”

“Asleep. That fool came from Yekaterinburg to skate with me at the exhibition, and then everything happened… he is done in, that crazy man.”

“How do you feel?” Yuuko asked, going to the benches to put her good skates on. Yuuri cringed,

“Today feels like a good day. I’m fine to play around.”

“Good, because I request my fill of silliness.” She smiled, seeing him relieved.

“Let’s warm-up a little, I wouldn’t want to pull something.” Yuuko agreed and first they stretched together, then they entered the rink, doing long laps to get the legs moving, to avoid hurting themselves (they had learnt the hard way, when they were younger and more impatient).

It had been too long since the last time they had skated together, but they still had the uncanny ability to predict what the other was going to do, and adapt.

Before Yuuri started really skating professionally, they had even given a go at ice dancing. Then she had had the triplets and Yuuri had disappeared for five years in Detroit.

He could still lift her properly, though. She told him as much.

“How do you think I was able to teach Vitya how to lift? We trained together for the duet and luckily I still remembered _our_ training.” Yuuri smiled at Yuuko, slowing her down, slow waltz steps bringing them through the ice rink, until they reached the side.

“I missed this.” She said.

“I’m sorry I was away so long.” Yuuri said, leaning on the wall of the rink, “I thought I had all the time in the world...” He trailed off.

“Don’t be stupid, Yuuri,” Yuuko retorted, determined, “You’ll heal. And I call dibs on another ice dance.” She looked at Yuuri and waited for him to nod.

“ _Hai._ I’ll do my best, Yu-chan.”

“You better.”

Had she wanted to talk more about the situation, she couldn’t have, as any more thoughts on the matter were drowned by the sound of the door opening and of her girls’ voices careening towards them.

“Yuuri, Yuuri, you have to skate with us!” Loop, Lutz and Axel laced their skates in seconds and crowded her best friend, who looked at her in terror. Yuuko smiled wickedly.

“Good luck, Yuuri-kun!”

“ _What do you mean “good luck_ ”??” he asked her, alarmed, before the triplets’ voices covered his.

Yuuko snickered, then got out of the ice and went to Takeshi, gladly accepting her husband’s tight embrace. Both stood still for a while, watching as Yuuri taught (well, tried to teach through their chatter) the jumps and spins the girls requested.

He could be a good coach _when_ he’d retire.

Yuuko had kept in contact with Yurio when he had left Hasetsu, and those days were not an exception. Usually they texted, or they tagged each other in cat videos. She was pretty surprised when she saw him calling that evening. She moved to an empty room (hoping that the girls wouldn’t try to hijack the call as they usually did).

“Hello. Yurio?” she said, uncertain.

“Hello Yuuko.” Yurio’s voice seemed normal.

“Is everything ok?” she asked, sitting down.

“Yeah… I called because…no, sorry, it’s stupid.” Yuuko rolled her eyes. How very teenage of him.

“No, no, it isn’t. Tell me. Come on…”

“I just wanted to know from someone who isn’t a complete moron how Katsudon is.” Oh, right… he had probably seen everything on television.

“Does that mean that you think Viktor and Yuuri are morons?” she asked, amused, trying to lighten the mood. Yurio snorted.

“Why, you don’t?”

“I suppose…” A small silence extended between them, a few seconds of just breathing and the static of the line,

“So? How are they?” he asked again.

“Yuuri is… stoic. He’s trying to put up a strong mask but we can all see the cracks. He’s a bit better, but I can’t wait until he starts the treatments. Viktor is completely lost; I hope he can regain his footing before Yuuri needs him.”

“Yuuri’s passing out on the ice upset him a lot.” He answered, a bit too quickly. Yurio wasn’t unaffected either, it was clear: he’d called him Yuuri and not Katsudon, that, she thought, was a clear signal.

“Yeah, well, he did pass out in his arms… let’s cut him some slack.” She reasoned. “How are you, Yurio?”

The answer was not immediate.

“I don’t know. Worried, I guess.” Yurio always tried to downplay his feelings, especially those that made him vulnerable. Adolescence. Yuuko really didn’t want to think about when Axel, Loop and Lutz would get to that age.

“Well, I think it’s the least you could expect.” Yuuko said. She knew, though, that if Yurio didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t. “How are Makkachin and Potya? Yuuri showed me the photos you sent him, they’re so cute together.”

“They’re trying to take over the couch. Tomorrow they’ll be Mila’s duty, I’m going to Moscow for a couple of days.”

“Oh! How is your grandpa?” she asked, feeling relieved; maybe being with his family would soothe Yurio, he was clearly shaken, but also clearly trying to appear strong and unaffected..

“Fine,” he answered, “His back bothers him from time to time, but nothing too worrying.”

“They kept talking for a few more minutes, winding down to more mundane topics, until Yuuko was satisfied that Yurio felt at least somewhat reassured, and the prickling tension was gone from his voice.

She glanced up at the clock. “I have to go and put the triplets to bed now, pack your skating socks too,” she said, voice amused, mocking him slightly, “I know you will go on the ice even at your grandfather’s this weekend.”

Yurio scoffed at her through the phone, much more softly than usual. “Speaking for experience, yeah? Sure... mother. Bye.”

“Goodbye,” she replied, but the teen had already hung up.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family means taking care of each other.

When Viktor finally felt rested enough to open his eyes, the first thing he realized was that he was alone. Makkachin had remained in St. Petersburg, he reminded himself, but Yuuri was missing too. He took a deep breath, trying not to panic, and took stock of what was around him… _Hasetsu_ , he told himself, _nobody would let me sleep if something was wrong_.

Turning towards the pillow vacated by Yuuri, he found a note. Viktor scanned it quickly and promptly exhaled a relieved sigh. His free hand covered his face and he groaned. He was already ( _still?)_ exhausted, if not in his body, in his mind. He had never experienced something as stressful, not even his first senior year, and he could not imagine how it had to be for his Yuuri. He groped the bedside until he located his phone, and checked the time. 9:30 am. He had slept more than ten hours. His head thumped back on the pillow and he let a long, slow exhale out, his phone abandoned on the mattress, his mind blank, looking up at the ceiling. The day before, he had been bone-tired, right down to the marrow, and he was still, his body dragging him down in the nest of blankets, his skin numb, feeling emotionally bruised all over. He didn’t really register the moment tears came. His eyes burned, and a ragged breath chocked him up. His forearm covered his eyes and he let himself silently tremble. At least, Yuuri wasn’t there to witness his weakness this time.

*** ***

Hiroko was checking on the ingredients for lunch when, few minutes before ten, Viktor came down the stairs. Seeing him, she pursued her lips.

He looked tired, despite having gone up to bed early the previous evening. The shadows under his eyes had only slightly abated, and they looked puffy and red. It was obvious that he was trying to put up one of his well-practised masks, but the man had lived with them for eight months, and Hiroko was an observant woman. He walked to the table and sat down heavily, much of his usual grace absent, his shoulders immediately hunched down. She could see his face and the mighty effort he was making to control his expression like a mask, not to let it crumble. Probably, not to cry again.

She couldn’t let him go on like that.

Hiroko poured a mug of hot tea and put some cakes on a plate, knowing that the Russian preferred a sweeter breakfast to the usual rice and eggs. Silently, she brought them to Viktor and slid them in front of his eyes. She felt her heart clench painfully when Viktor turned to her with a perfect gold medal smile. The fake one she had learnt to spot within a week when he had come to live there all those months ago.

“Thank you,” he said, without any tremor in his voice. Hiroko held his gaze, looking at him critically. She could see his façade faltering with every passing second. He cleared his throat, “Can I help you, Hiroko-san?” he asked. She brought a hand on Viktor’s cheek and swiped under his eye where a bit of wetness remained.

“Oh, Vicchan, you don’t have to hide anything here,” she said. Hiroko didn’t know if it had been the gesture or the words, but after looking at her with huge eyes, she saw them filling with tears.

She was quick in enveloping that strong and usually composed man in her arms, and her heart broke a little when she realized that, even clutching at her back with his hands, he was still crying as silently as he could. Had anyone ever let this man express his sorrow in his life? Or did they always ask him to be perfect and smiling? “I know it’s hard seeing him suffer. You would gladly take it onto yourself,” Viktor nodded on her shoulder, “I know, I’m his mother, I’d give everything to take this away. But we can’t, Vicchan. We can only be there for him.” Viktor tried to say something but Hiroko shushed him. “Let me finish. It means, though, that we suffer too. It’s only natural, it’s because we love him. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, nothing you need to hide, especially from us. We’re _family_ , you’re family to us too, and we stick together.”

She started petting his hair, and the raw sound that simple gesture got from him told her more about Viktor Nikiforov than years of TV interviews and photo-shoots, and confirmed what she had seen in those eight months: he was a very lonely man, or at least he had been until her son had entered his life.

“When you and Yuuri fell in love, you became part of our family too. And family doesn’t hide, family suffers together. Let me help you, Vicchan”

Viktor cried harder at that, and she held him tighter.

Few minutes passed before he could calm down, and Hiroko was grateful nobody came to disturb them. Eventually, he moved away a little, and she materialized some tissues from one of her pockets and gave them to him to dab at his eyes.

“Eat up, now. You need it. Then, go and soak in the onsen, I’ll let you know when Yuuri is back from Ice Castle.”

Viktor nodded,

“Thanks, Hiroko-san.”

*** ***

Yuuri had really enjoyed skating with Yuuko, and even if he had to cut his time shorter than he’d liked because he didn’t want a repeat of the day of the exhibition, still, his mood was serene when he got back to Yuutopia. He left the shoes at the entrance, making sure they were in a tidy line with the others, and then went towards the stairs, wondering if Viktor had woken up. Vitya had been so tired, Yuuri hoped he had slept in that morning.

Passing by the main hall, he almost called out to his mother, when his eyes fell on the scene at one of the tables. His mom was hugging Viktor, caressing his head just like she had done for him the day before. Yuuri’s heart broke a little more when he heard the broken sob that escaped Viktor’s throat.

Yuuri hastened up the stairs, hoping that they hadn’t seen him, eyes burning and chest clenching painfully.

He ended up in the house temple, kneeling in front of the small altar. A new and old pang of pain hit him when he saw Vicchan’s stone, and it mixed with the pain of the last two weeks, leaving him breathless. He joined his hands, palm against palm, and tried to get his breathing back under control.

*** ***

Mari heard swift steps on the stairs and went checking on who was in such a hurry. She glimpsed someone getting in the family temple and, looking through the door, she was suddenly hit by a sense of déjà-vu. Eight months before, her brother had come back defeated and sad, and she had found him in that very same room, but, this… this was different.

She got inside and knelt next to Yuuri. They remained in silence, Mari trying not to make one of her usual sarcastic quips to her distraught brother.

“Do you think he’d be waiting for me?” Yuuri asked, his voice dejected.

“Who?” Mari asked back, confused.

“Vicchan,” her brother answered, “I wasn’t here when he needed me, I was away for five years and never came back, before…” Mari’s blood froze in her veins. “And now I’m making everyone cry. Mom, dad, you, Minako-Sensei, Yucchan, Yurio… Viktor. I’m making everyone suffer… maybe it would be easier if…” Mari’s hands closed on Yuuri’s shoulders almost on their own volition, clamping down so hard that she felt the bed of her nails hurt, and turned him forcefully towards her, denial roaring in the back of her throat, trapped behind her held breath. Meeting his wide, wild gaze, she shook him once, hard. Yuuri gasped and looked at her with wide, wild eyes.

“Katsuki Yuuri, _stop talking like this_.” She seethed between her teeth, “You are not making us suffer and _nothing_ would be easier _if_! Vicchan would bite you if he were here.” Mari’s eyes filled with angry tears.

“Mari-neechan,” Yuuri was looking at her in disbelief and maybe an ounce of fear.

“You have to stop doing that.” She urged him, “You have to stop thinking that we would be better off without you. We’re not! And you have to stop thinking that we could ever stop missing you, loving you, you _baka_!” Mari pulled him in her arms, hugging him tightly. She wanted to say more, but her throat closed up. She pushed against the lump, “You have to stop thinking that you are somehow replaceable, for _any_ of us.” Her voice was broken, all her shock and rage melting into a pile of impotent grief, but she didn’t care, as long as she could make her little brother understand. She huffed surprised when strong arms hugged her back, and Yuuri gathered her in them.

“Forgive me, Mari,” he started, “I didn’t want to make you all cry, that’s all.”

“Like we like when you’re sad, _baka_.” Mari told him. “You always want to carry everything by yourself, you never think you’re enough for anything. You’re don’t need to be enough, you stubborn brother, you just need to be Yuuri! I know you don’t like to be a burden, but that’s the point: you’re not. Everyone needs to be carried sometimes, even you, let us, for once in your freaking life.” Yuuri’s hold tightened on Mari, and Mari answered back with equal force, relieved to see her brother react. Sometimes she had worried that he would let himself drift away, convinced of his own lack of value.

“Mari-neechan,”

“Just promise me you will not give up…” she pleaded with him, her voice wet. Yuuri’s strangled noise surprised her, even more when he pushed her at arms’ length looking her straight in her eyes.

“I have _no_ intention of giving up.” He said, his voice had never been surer, “I won’t stay here and let this bring me down. If have to go down, it won’t be without a fight, ok?” Mari nodded, relieved. “It’s that I cannot see the future, and I worry.”

Mari hugged him again.

“Silly brother.”

“Have I worried you so much?” Yuuri asked. Mari couldn’t find it in herself to answer with a ‘no’, even though she wanted to .

“Not much, Usually, you pull through fine, but we were worried about you when you came back, and now…” Mari cupped his cheek.

“Yeah. I’m so sorry I made you worry. Really.”

“Yeah, we’re all on the edge, I think it’s normal. Sorry for raging…” she said, drying her eyes.

“Nah. I was surprised, but it’s nice to know you love me”.

“ _Baka_. So, that morbid train of thought, what’s that about?” she asked. Yuuri lowered his eyes again.

“I saw Viktor crying in mama’s arms. And I felt so selfish…”

“Viktor never talks about his family…” Mari said.

“They’re not close. The closest thing he has to a parent is Yakov, and he shows his love by screaming at you. He’s a good man, but he’s a Russian tough man through and through. Sometimes Viktor needs someone to hold him, not to push him. I’m just grateful you all accepted him like you did.”

“He’s not hard to care for,” Mari smiled bitterly, “I think he wants to be liked, that’s why he’s always so friendly and bubbly. But we had him here for a while and he lost his mythical aura the first time I saw him snore after dinner… we got to know him, thanks to you. And now… If there’s a reason I’m not trying to convince you to stay in Hasetsu for the treatments it’s him. I know he’ll be better for you, St Petersburg will be a better motivator, reminding you of what you have to fight for, of what you love to do.” Mari scuffed at his hair. “Don’t think I’ll leave you alone, though, I’ve already booked my flights.”

“Thank you, Mari.”

“You’re welcome, Yuuri-kun.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, a bit of a pause, and some fluff...
> 
> My beta needed alcohol...

Viktor had followed Hiroko’s advice and after breakfast he had gone to the onsen to relax. The warm water soothed his muscles, tired from skating, travelling for hours in cramped seats and from the hours spent on an uncomfortable chair beside Yuuri’s bedside. He hadn’t stayed long, though: it felt strange to be there without Yuuri. He dried up, his head a bit lighter after the comfort Hiroko had offered him. He put the bathrobe (he tried to remember the proper Japanese name and failed, he would have to ask again) and went to Yuuri’s room, their room, to change. He didn’t expect to find its owner inside, nobody had told him he was home. Viktor quickly forgot the issue in favor of looking at what Yuuri had been watching upon his entrance: he was sitting cross-legged on the bed, with a mess of semi-rolled up sheets of glossy paper in front of him. He was keeping one open, and Viktor was floored in recognizing himself at sixteen years old, the same costume his Yuuri wore for his Eros routine, long hair in a ponytail. So that was how Yuuri had recognized the outfit, even with all the wrinkles from the airplane luggage storage and the years in a closet.

“I had such a crush for you…” Yuuri said, turning towards him, smiling even if he was blushing furiously. He’d always thought that there was something missing in Yuuri’s bedroom: empty spaces on the walls that didn’t make sense and now… they did. Viktor smiled back and entered the room, closing the door behind his back. He closed the distance between them, finally acknowledging the longing he had felt the whole morning. He slid behind the brunette, putting his legs on both sides of his fiancé, so he could rest his chin on his shoulder. Their heads turned, their lips meeting in the middle, smoothly, as if that were the only possible action. Viktor’s arms embraced Yuuri’s midriff, squeezing him slightly.

“You had?” Viktor asked, mocking offence.

“It’s not a crush now. And I didn’t know you back then… but your skating, oh, your skating. It inspired me. You inspire me, Vitya.” Viktor tightened his hold on Yuuri.

“You inspire me back. Exactly, how many posters did you have?” Viktor chuckled when he felt the cheek next to his heat up again.

“Ahem… all of them?” Yuuri admitted. “I was a really, really… dedicated fan… I still am, but no poster could hold its place compared to the real you. They were good enough to bring me to you, though.” Yuuri said, his voice lowering in volume with every word. “Yuuko and I used to copy your routines. Not only Stammi Vicino, I think I still remember the whole choreography for The Lilac Fairy too…” Viktor couldn’t resist, he brought his hands up and turned Yuuri towards him, kissing him deeply.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t be more endearing, more precious.” Viktor said. Yuuri blushed again, although the color on his face didn’t match the assured way in which he leaned up to kiss him in turn. He adored how Yuuri would still flush at his compliments.

“I could show you tomorrow. I’ll need to run through it a couple of times, but… it’s your Junior program, there are no quads…” Yuuri said.

“Cheeky.” Viktor prompted Yuuri to open another poster, this one was of him and Makkachin. “Ooh, I didn’t even know they had made a poster of this… Look at me, I’m more or less Yurio’s age here, and Makkachin was a puppy.”

“It wasn’t an official poster. I managed to find a good resolution photo and I had it printed out. You were so carefree and happy here. It was almost like knowing something about you off the ice… aaand now I sound like a stalker…” Viktor stared at Yuuri with his mouth open. “Viktor? Are you okay? I… I didn’t mean any harm, I was like thirteen or fourteen maybe…” whatever Yuuri had intended to say, Viktor decided it didn’t matter. He dislodged himself from behind his fiancé, picked the posters up, paying attention not to damage them, and moved them on the desk. He climbed back on the bed, where Yuuri was still looking at him with a slight frown, and went to sit in his lap, cradling his face in his hands and kissing him, slow and fierce, trying to elicit in Yuuri even just a tenth of what he felt right then. Yuuri’s ears blushed, but still his hands got on Viktor’s thighs, and as they pressed on naked skin, Viktor was suddenly reminded that he was only wearing a yukata ( _that was the name!_ ), and it was his turn to flush. Yuuri’s hands betrayed nothing of their owner’s former uncertainty and moved up, up, his fingers fleetingly brushing against his skin, making Viktor shiver all over, and pulling a moan out of him. The kiss gentled, while his fiancé distanced their lips with a scant centimeter,

“Vitya?” he murmured, skin on skin, as always asking permission.

Viktor could only whimper.

“Yuuri, my Yuuri…” Yuuri kissed him again, holding him with his hands on his hips, while Viktor’s hands started the task of getting rid of Yuuri’s sweater. The mouth on his moved to his neck, travelling until it got to his ear.

“Vitya… my Viten’ka, what do you want? Tell me, love?” Yuuri whispered against his skin. Viktor keened, feeling himself harden, feeling Yuuri getting harder under his thighs.

“Yuuri,” Viktor stopped a second, just to look the man in front of him straight in the eyes. His memory went back to that night in their apartment, when everything had seemed to crumble down around them, and it only seemed fitting, in that moment, to take his right hand, kiss the golden ring and the skin underneath and murmur, “Make love to me, Золотце.”

Yuuri didn’t hesitate, he scrambled from underneath him to get rid of his clothes while Viktor gathered their supplies. He hadn’t even turned around yet when he felt the half askew bathrobe being peeled away, and Viktor shuddered in anticipation. Yuuri pushed him to lie on the bed, kissing him with aching sweetness.

“I can’t say no to you,” he said and Viktor couldn’t help but moan when his a mouth latched on a nipple and sucked, but Yuuri didn’t linger there, and he soon came back to kissing him, muffling both their moans while Yuuri commandeered the lube and his right hand lowered between a legs. “I cannot believe you got turned on because I was a borderline stalker,” Yuuri joked, trying to distract him from what he was doing.

“I got turned on because...” his voice broke on a whimper, body twitching in response to Yuuri’s fingers, the distraction clearly not working; “because you wanted me for me, before I even knew who I was,” he managed to say, panting. Yuuri shut him up with another kiss, even hungrier than the previous ones, and Viktor took advantage of his position to get the lube and spread it liberally on him. “What are you waiting for?” he asked, trying to buck his hips up against the hand pinning him down, trying to get Yuuri where he most needed him.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Yuuri said, smiling angelically at him while doing devilishly things with his fingers. Viktor didn’t think he had ever been so turned on in his life.

“You won’t. You can’t” the man’s expression darkened, his free hand coming up to caress Viktor’s shadows still present under his eyes,

“It seems like it’s all I do lately.” Yuuri said mournfully. Viktor felt the haze recede, suddenly, and shut him up with a fervent kiss.

“Not you, never you. Not your fault, am I clear?” he insisted. He made an effort, his need to reassure and take away that stupid idea from his Yuuri’s head momentarily taking the place of the heat of the moment.

Yuuri looked at him in awe.

“Vitya…”

“My Yuuri, _am I clear?_ ” he repeated, more urgently.

“ _Hai_. Yes, my love.”

“Good. Get on with it, now, will you? I made a request, I believe.” Yuuri laughed slightly at his put-upon tone, cleaning his hand on Viktor’s thigh, and positioning his legs at his will.

“Is it okay? Like this?” Yuuri asked, letting some of his uncertainty come back. Viktor pulled him towards him.

“It’s perfect. I want to see you.” Viktor melted at Yuuri’s sweet expression, and accepted the deep kiss he silenced him with.

“Viten’ka,” Yuuri murmured against his lips, once again, and Viktor, for the first time since Yuuri had flown to Japan, finally felt alive again.

Hastily covered with Yuuri’s quilt, quickly cleaned with some tissues, Yuuri had dozed off in his arms. Viktor held him close, his breath puffing warmly against his throat, his body almost draped on his, two hands holding each other close. Viktor breathed, his mind for once silent. He had a family now, and it was working downstairs, skating in St Petersburg, spending New Year’s in Moscow. Mainly, it was resting in his arms, his to love, his to cherish, his to protect.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in St Petersburg, holidays are finished, and reality must be faced.

After Viktor opened the door, Yuuri brought his luggage in, turning left to gaze at the sitting room.

He breathed in deeply, enjoying the feeling of home. 

“Tadaima,” he said.

Viktor’s arms closed around him from behind and he almost jumped in surprise, then he felt the man’s chin dig gently on his shoulder. “Okaeri,” Viktor’s voice whispered in his ear. Yuuri turned his head and left a sweet peck on his cheek.

“Who taught you this?”

“Your sister. She said that it’s something you say when coming back home, right?” Yuuri turned around in Viktor’s embrace and hugged him back.

“Yeah. I suppose I already consider home where we live together.” He would normally never say something so sappy, and he knew that as soon as he rested up he would think about this moment and feel atrocious amounts of second-hand embarrassment for himself, but he didn’t care right then, his filter was shot, and he didn’t regret it when he heard Viktor’s sharp inhale and felt his lips on his forehead.

“My sweet Yuuri.”

They reluctantly parted to get rid of their jackets, and began puttering around the house, putting away some of their luggage. Mila had restocked their fridge (complete with that strawberry drink she liked, that was the only clue he needed) and Yuuri took note to thank her.

“Ok, let’s stop! I’ll think about the rest tomorrow, or the day after, or never!” Viktor said, sprawling dramatically on the sofa. Yuuri looked at his ridiculous fiancé. “Yuuri…” Viktor drawled, opening his arms. How could he resist that lovely pout? It just wasn’t possible, and he let fate guide him to his melodramatic lover. He climbed on the sofa, sitting sideways on Viktor’s lap, and resting his head on his shoulder. They had had a long trip home (although for once Aeroflot had been on time). He felt drowsiness set in and he didn’t fight it, feeling safe in Vitya’s arms.

He woke up in their bed, and must have been very tired if he hadn’t woken up at all when Viktor had moved him. Viktor wasn’t beside him, and Yuuri enjoyed the warmth of the covers for a moment longer, his gaze distracted by the strange effect of the two dozen or so lamps hanging inside the metal frame of the poster bed, with the light from the huge windows reflecting on them. He stirred, they had rink time and then…

He didn’t want to think about it, so he didn’t.

Yuuri stretched out and pulled the covers off.

He looked down and frowned at his pyjamas: how had he slept through Viktor undressing and then redressing him with pajamas? He stepped out of the room, still yawning, and stopped at the sight of Viktor puttering in the kitchen, preparing their breakfast. It was nothing particular, just their usual pre-training meal, but he felt a pull of warmth in his chest.

Viktor was at the kitchen table, he was humming the song from his free skate, and he jumped a little when Yuuri’s arms encircled his waist and his nose nuzzled the top of his spine, as if he hadn’t heard him.

“Good morning, дорогои.” Viktor said a moment later, his right hand coming to cover Yuuri’s. “Are you rested?” Yuuri nodded, his head still on Viktor’s back, black fringe getting caught under his forehead.

“Thanks for bringing me to bed.”

“You didn’t even stir. Travelling is tiring.”

“Yeah. Too many flights in a short time.”

“Come on, my Yuuri, let’s eat. Then we’re going skating.” Viktor turned in Yuuri’s arms and raised his head with a finger under his chin, touching the lower lip with his thumb.

It was exactly what he had done those first days in Hasetsu, when he had been so terribly star-stricken and reacted by jumping around. He didn’t move this time, he let Vitya’s finger disclose his lips and he leaned on his toes to reach Viktor’s mouth. Just a simple kiss, nothing heated. They parted, smiling at each other, and sat down, legs touching, hands brushing each other’s when they passed food, tea and milk between them.

Just an hour later, Yuuri entered the rink, launching in a warm up glide across the unblemished ice. Viktor soon joined him and they got to work: he was searching for a new theme for the following year and was trying different step sequences. He made sure to keep in mind the most promising step sequences, feeling an inkling of idea start to grow, but without real success; the fact that he kept glancing at the clock didn’t help his concentration: their two hours together were already passing, then Viktor had two hours with Yakov, and then…

_Nope! Not thinking about it!_

He launched on a rendition of the Lilac Fairy and in the familiar steps and turns he finally felt free. No competitions, no other intrusive thoughts, just Yuuri and the ice. He felt quiet and sure, and, even if only for a few minutes, safe.

When most of their time had passed, getting out of his trance-like state, Yuuri skated to Viktor. He opened his arms and the Russian skater reacted by hugging him close.

The ice rink was filling in. Mila was warming up, Yura had been on the ice for half an hour already, and Georgi was talking with Yakov and Lilia. Yuuri took both of Viktor’s hands, got so very close to him and looked at him.

Viktor, his Vitya, was beautiful. The silver hair was swept by the wind he created with his graceful legs, his cheeks and nose were rosy, healthily glowing. His eyes were roaming on Yuuri’s own face, and And his hands closed more tightly around his.

Yuuri cleared his throat.

“Did you want to ask something?” Viktor inquired. He nodded.

“I have a big favor to ask, and I don’t know if you’ll say yes. I won’t mind, if you say no, but I have my reasons to suggest this.” Yuuri said, a bit too fast, like usual when he was nervous.

“Tell me, and let’s see?”

“Skate Stammi Vicino with me.”

*** ***

Viktor Nikiforov had _never_ been afraid on the ice. Even as he kept falling while learning to skate backwards, jumps and spins, even as he competed at the highest level (even at the Olympics at 17), the ice was safe. His routines were stress-relievers when he felt nervous or needed to think. Why, then, did he feel his throat closing? He didn’t know what his face was doing, but he was clutching at Yuuri’s hands hard enough to turn his skin white. In a moment, he found himself in another ice rink, with the noise of an undistinguished crowd cheering swiftly rising in alarm, and with Yuuri’s almost dead weight in his arms. His breath hitched, and was just going to pick up, when Yuuri stopped everything going wrong in his head just by eskimo-kiss him.

“Vitya, we don’t…”

“Why? Why do you want to do it?” he interrupted, voice hoarse.

“Because I don’t want your last memory of skating it with me to be tainted with fear.”

Once, Yuuri had said that he had been floored by him, by his ability to always meet him where he was. Viktor had smiled then, but only in that moment he understood what he really meant. Yuuri had seen him, had seen his fear when he hadn’t even realized what he was afraid of. Viktor could only close the distance between them with a sweet press of lips.

“Go and put the music on,” he said. Yuuri beamed, and rapidly skated to the music station. Viktor saw him exchanging quick words with Yakov, and the old coach shook his head.

“Everybody, five minutes break!” The coach’s voice rang like a bell in the air. “Clear the ice!”

He moved to the side of the rink, watching Yuuri finish fumbling with the docking station and his phone, before moving in the center of the ice, while Viktor moved to the side.

The first notes of Stammi Vicino played and he could feel every single one of Yuuri’s movements as his own. The hand that went over his head, and the sharp skate forward, almost on one knee. Yuuri’s preparation for the jump, a quad Lutz that he downgraded in a triple, perfectly executed. Viktor held his breath when his love prepared for the next jump, a quad flip. He had hoped he would do a triple, but Yuuri was nothing if not determined, and even as he touched down on the landing, he was beaming at Viktor. The preparation for the triple Axel was his cue, and Viktor started skating, intercepting Yuuri after his perfect landing, and they began the ice dance section.

Time lost meaning, the only things that counted were the ice, and the skin where their bodies touched, the ever-changing points of contact lighting up his body. The lifts, back and forth, sliding one around the other, the soft touch of the hand on the cheek.

This was theirs, they had choreographed it together, taking inspiration from athletes they both admired, pouring their love first on paper and then on ice. Yuuri’s strength when he lifted him clean off the ice, the absolute trust in those arms and legs (the terror of dropping him the first time, the slight tremble he still had before picking him up). The elation in being held by his love while leaning forward, his foot placed on his lover’s leg, one arm stretched high, the other leaning back, and Yuuri’s solid hands keeping his calves steady (the absolute lack of fear, feeling gracious and secure in Yuuri’s hands). And the last part, the beautiful slow spin, bodies kept close by strong arms and careful fingers on the back of the neck, and a leg elegantly elongated behind, and then the reciprocal lowering, and Viktor had never felt safer anywhere than in those arms, bringing him closer to the ice, and then turning so that, again, he was draped on Yuuri’s knee, chest heaving, Yuuri’s head on his heart while he kept him impossibly close.

Viktor had closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, his gaze was met by Yuuri’s elated one, a soft smile adorning his lips, his cheeks blushed in pink.

“Are you okay?” Viktor couldn’t help asking. Yuuri pulled him down, so that he was no longer facing his chest but his face, Viktor’s sharp exhale ending straight on his lips.

“I love you, Vitya.” He said, and Viktor knew it was the answer he was looking for.

*** ***

Mila wasn’t a person prone to be thoughtful. People often criticized her for being almost rude, very nosey and often told her to take things more seriously.

She usually flipped them off.

She was brash, but she was determined. She was training under Yakov Feltsman, and that was all the evidence of her seriousness anyone could need.. She liked to look at the best parts of life. Sometimes she concentrated on foolish things only because they made her laugh, they made her life (studies, family and training, all with their set of difficulties) better.

She liked Katsuki. He was polite and kind and, deep down, kind of a dork, and he always tried to make them smile. He was respectful of Yakov in a way all of them hadn’t been in a long time, even if he wasn’t his coach, and he worked hard.

Nonetheless, she was surprised at how hard Yuuri having cancer had hit her. At the beginning, she hadn’t known what to do. Yakov had asked them to keep it fairly normal, and she had, maybe just being a tiny bit gentler than usual with Katsuki. He seemed to appreciate it: she had seen how he bristled when Viktor fussed too much. He had thanked her profusely for caring about Makkachin and restocking their pantry, and Viktor had hugged her that morning. It was mind boggling, especially in comparison with how Viktor had been before, with them. She could remember how aloof he had been, never rude or mocking but… distant. He would help them, either if they asked him for his opinion or offering it freely, if rarely, but he didn’t let them get closer. When they tried to invite him out, he would graciously refuse, if he was in difficulty with something, they would only know by eavesdropping on Yakov’s muttering, or after the problem had gone, because he didn’t say anything. Now, instead, if she made a mistake (or Georgi or Yura) and Yakov was busy with another skater, he was the first to approach and give advice, or pay a compliment if something was particularly well done. He hanged out with them, even just for a hot chocolate on a cheat day at their favorite bakery, Yuuri always at his side, joining in idly chit chat and laughs. It had been refreshing.

So, she wanted to do something in return for the Japanese man that had given them their Vitya back. She couldn’t say she knew a lot about leukemia, but she had read about it some. She wanted to help; she just didn’t really know how. Until, one day, lazily browsing the internet, she found the perfect thing.

That thing was the reason why she was walking into the hospital, two boxes under her arms. Mila had already talked with some of the nurses she knew because of her sister, and they were expecting her. Nurse Raissa smiled and pointed her to a door on the far left, telling her to go.

Mila promptly walked there and knocked.

“Uh… come in?” it was Yuuri’s voice, muffled by the wood. She knew she would find Vitya inside too. She opened the door and regaled them with a small smile.

“Hi…” she said, suddenly shy. She had definitely planned to say more, but words got stuck.

“Milochka…” Viktor said. He was on the chair next to the bed where Yuuri was sitting, covered by a hospital gown and his jeans. “What’s up?” he asked.

“Well… I… we… Georgi and I thought that this could help…” she had a whole speech planned, where had it gone? No matter, she thrust the box to Yuuri. “Open it. I’ll explain.” He seemed dubious. “Come on, it’s to help you, for your therapy.” She added, encouragingly. Yuuri looked at her curiously and then set to open the box. Mila turned towards Viktor just in time to catch him smiling gratefully at her, with a raw twist to the corner of his mouth.

Sometimes she forgot how damn _lonely_ Vitya had been before going to Hasetsu. He had thought himself friendless, and this would have normally offended Mila, but she knew it wasn’t any of their fault. Shitty adolescence will fuck you up as an adult.

“What…” Yuuri had opened the gift and pulled the cap out. It was already prepped for use. “What’s this?” he asked, an adorably puzzled expression twisting his nose.

“This, my dear Katsudon,” she said, using Yura’s nickname just to see him smile, “is a refrigerating cap. It’s used to lessen the hair-loss due to the chemo.” She explained, shrugging her shoulders a little. It wasn’t much in the face of leukemia, but they had been feeling helpless, and Georgi was right in saying that anything, no matter how small, mattered. “We didn’t know what to do to help, and I read online: it’s very effective. We spoke with the hospital and brought two for the treatments.” Mila watched in awe and horror as Yuuri’s eyes filled with tears. “Yuuri…?” Viktor chuckled, threading his fingers in Yuuri’s hair.

“Mila, come here.” The Japanese man said, and as soon as she was at arms’ length, Yuuri pulled her in for a hug.

“Oh my, it’s the Rostelecom all over again.” She muttered, laughing. Vitya looked at her puzzled, “When you were back in Hasetsu for Makkachin, after the free skate, your charming man here became a hugging zombie. He hugged Yakov, Sara Crispino, traumatized her brother Michele, hugged Emil Nekola and then chased Yura out, but he escaped.” Yuuri groaned, the sound muffled by her hoodie.

“Did you have to remind me of that?” he whined, moving away from the hug with a grateful smile.

“It was cute!” she answered. Viktor laughed at that.

Mila went away before the doctor came to hook Yuuri up with the drugs. She hugged him and Viktor extra tight and kissed both on the cheeks. “See you tomorrow morning.” She said, decisively. More like an order, really.

“See you tomorrow, Mila.” Agreed Yuuri.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The treatment starts and it's not pretty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, let me apologize for missing a week: my grandma wasn't very well and it threw me a little (she's better now, luckily).
> 
> Secondly, let's go back to our boys XD
> 
> Third: my Beta has a message for you... in the end notes :D

Chemo sucked. Just two days in, and Katsuki’s stamina was already depleted. He still skated, even though it was just slow step sequences and single jumps, or fucking compulsory figures: for the joy of Yakov that still taught them as basics. That morning, Yuuri had been doing just those, more than one hour of figure-eights on the ice, and although sometimes he wobbled, he seemed to stubbornly continue, until he saw Viktor skate to him and block him physically. Georgi was too far to hear what was going on, but the body language of the two of them was clear enough: it seemed like Yuuri wanted to protest, if the pout and jittery arm movements were to be believed, but in the end he deflated, and glided off the ice, after a tender forehead kiss from Viktor. Georgi knew he should have looked away, but he couldn’t. He felt a hollow inside, thinking of Anya and of how she wouldn’t have cared about him like that in the same situation.

 _Argh_ , stop with that, already, Popovich.

He saw Yuuri come back to the rink and sit on the bench, a jacket draped over his shoulders and a bottle of water in hand, finally resting. Georgi waited a half an hour or so, and when he saw the Japanese getting restless once again, he slid towards the rink-wall.

“Hey, Yuuri?” the other turned upon hearing his voice.

“Hi Georgi.” Yuuri said, a welcoming, if wan, smile aimed at his direction, and Georgi took it as permission to plop down on the bench beside him.

“Can I steal you for a moment? I have a problem with a step sequence I’m trying to improve for my short program, but there’s something that doesn’t seem right and I can’t pinpoint what.” He said. Yuuri looked around, like he was checking something, but Georgi had timed it well: Lilia was with Yura, Yakov was drilling Viktor and checking on Mila. Yuuri could not escape.

“Sure. Let’s see.” He answered, taking off his blade guards and getting back on the ice. Soon enough, he almost regretted the request: Yuuri asked him to show the step sequence first at full speed, and then at half speed. Then a pensive look appeared on his face, almost as if the other skater was watching something he only could see, and he started asking him other questions about the components of his program, and then Yuuri skated, at half speed again, the changes he had proposed him. When Georgi tried the new steps, he was happy to see that they had really improved the piece, but hadn’t considered Katsuki’s tendency to nitpick: Yuuri made him repeat the sequence first at half speed, then at three quarters and then at full speed for almost an hour before declaring himself satisfied.

He was a monster, almost like Yakov. Without the shouting. He just made you feel like you had disappointed him… it was _horrible_.

And he didn’t stop there. Yuuri had noticed his sloppy free leg and started giving him advice on how to correct it, and at the end of his allotted time on the ice, Georgi actually felt like his leg wasn’t an alien appendage anymore. They were both on the benches, drinking water, and Georgi smiled when he saw that Yuuri’s slouch had disappeared, and the usual serene shine was back in his gaze.

Then Yakov stopped in front of them.

“Good job you two, today.” He said, clapping them both on the shoulders and going away, to shout something at Viktor. Georgi gaped at his coach, then turned to see Katsuki with a matching bewildered expression.

“Did he just… compliment us?” Yuuri asked, turning towards him.

“So it seems… I’m no less surprised than you. Will you help me tomorrow too?” he asked. Yuuri looked surprised.

“Yeah, I mean, yes if… I’m not too weak, that is.” He admitted. Georgi draped an arm over his shoulder and half hugged him,

“You can always shout at me from the wall like Yakov here.” He joked.

*** ***

It had been several days since he had been at Viktor’s and Katsudon’s apartment. He hadn’t had the time, and they had been in Hasetsu anyway. But four days into the chemo, Viktor had received a call from an important sponsor during training, badgering him to hell and back for a business meeting in person. As if Skype didn’t exist, yeesh. Katsudon and Viktor had almost gotten into a fight then and there, the usual stupid thing about work and not skipping it, until Yuri, fed up with them, had cut them off.

“Vitya, go to that damn meeting, you need the sponsors! I’ll babysit Katsudon tonight, if you have to be this annoying!” Both men shut up at once. Yuri stared at them, refusing to back down.

“I suppose that…this could do.” Viktor had said, apparently oblivious to Katsuki’s bristling.

“I don’t need a _nanny_ ,” Yuuri had said, then he had turned towards him and his gaze had been less angry, “You are welcome to spend the evening, though.”

That was how that afternoon Yuri had joined them at home after Katsudon’s therapy.

When he had come in, Viktor had hugged him so tight that he couldn’t even make a snarky remark, only hug him back. Behind them, Katsudon was on the sofa, covered with a heavy blanket, and a steaming cup of tea on the table. He had his eyes closed, and his breathing was slow and deep.

“Is he that tired?” Yuri asked, whispering. The man’s anguished expression answered wordlessly. Yuri hugged him a little tighter and kept him there for several seconds in silence.

“I have to go.” Viktor said, voice strangled, and Yuri nodded. “There’s tea in the kitchen, and there’s dinner ready for both of you. Make sure that he eats something, will you? Today the nausea has been particularly annoying and he hasn’t eaten much. He’s in a mood, definitely.”

“Vitya, I’ll look after him, don’t worry. Go.” He murmured, not wanting to wake the sleeping man. Viktor nodded, went to leave one last kiss on Katsudon’s lips, making his eyelids flutter briefly over tired, brown eyes, and Yuri even kept himself from making gagging noises: even he could recognize when it was _just not the moment_. The man slipped his coat on and then left a kiss on Yuri’s forehead too.

“Спасибо.” He said, before leaving, putting back his sparkly super ice mask. Yuri hated that fake expression. He had seen it fall in Hasetsu and hated every single time he had seen it again, afterwards. He had never been happier than when he had realized that Viktor had stopped putting it up at the rink. Not that he would tell him that, mind you.

He huffed, went to the kitchen, prepared another cup of tea and went to sit on the free side of the sofa. He looked at the sleeping man and not for the first time he noticed how fucking tired he was. He had lost some weight already and the sweater he had on hanged slightly big off his shoulders. His lips, always somewhat chapped (like his own, the dry air in the rink would do that), had some deep creases on them, that had to be painful.

He had to have made some sort of noise, or maybe Katsudon had a radar for when people stared at him, because he opened his eyes, licking his lips and grimacing. Nonetheless, he smiled at Yuri.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Yuri didn’t know what to say. Katsudon’s expression closed slightly off.

“Well? Have you lost your sharp tongue?” Katsudon said, with an air of weary challenge. Maybe the man wanted to go back to some normality, and who would blame him?

“No, I was wondering if you were awake enough to waste air by talking to you.” He answered, with a hint of bite. He knew he had taken the right decision when the man smiled again. Yuri stood up, took the remote, and switched the TV on, looking for a mindless movie, something good as background, then he came back and handed Yuuri his tea. “Drink, your voice sucks.” He said. He observed from the corner of his eye, waiting for the Japanese man to drink.

“Has Vitya left?” he asked, voice a little less rough. Yuri hummed.

“Yeah. He’ll be back soon.”

“He needs some time away from me.” Katsudon said, looking at the TV.

“Don’t be stupid, he cannot stay away from you, he’s not able to.” Yuri answered, “You’re both so gross!”

“But I make him sad.” He objected. Yuri swore to any deity that he would load them on a cargo for Timbuktu at that rate.

“Why have I offered to come here? You’re so melodramatic!” He groaned. When Katsudon didn’t answer, Yuri turned to him. His eyes were red rimmed and he was staring blankly at the TV, as if asking it silently to swallow him whole. Yuri could imagine exactly what he was thinking and didn’t like it one bit. He put his mug on the floor, on the side where no one would bump on it, and bent towards the older man, whose lashes had gone damp.

_Oh damn_

Yuri put the other’s mug away, then grasped the nearest wrist and a side of the blanket, and pulled him gently but steadily towards him. It was a bit strange having Katsudon, who usually felt bigger than him, curl in his arms and make himself small, but he went with it, encircling the man in his arms and letting him silently cry. He didn’t say anything, he was crap at being consoling, and he really wouldn’t have known what to say, but he kept stroking his back lightly, a slow movement meant to soothe (the same that grandpa used with him when he was upset). When the shuddering ended, and Yuri had managed to tame the threat of his own tears under control, he cleared his voice.

“We should eat. Then I’ll let you rest.”

“You shouldn’t have to do this, Yurio.” Katsudon said.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he snapped, voice rough. “this is what I get for being kind. I don’t _have_ to do this, I _want_ to do this, the same goes for Viktor or anybody else, now stop trying to get people to dump you, we’re not so dumb as to fall for it. You only get annoying by repeating the same bullshit.” He pushed Katsudon upright, not unkindly despite the harsh tone, and gave him his tea again. “Drink this, I’m getting dinner. _Do not move._ ” He knew people would have told him to be gentler, but he didn’t feel like it, and in any case Katsudon needed some tough… _something_. And he seemed less gloomy, so maybe it was working.

They dined on the couch, manners be damned, and although Yuuri didn’t finish his bowl, he still ate more than Yuri expected. Then, they really watched a movie. Katsudon seemed more tranquil, if tired, and Yuri wasn’t surprised when he felt him lean on his shoulder.

He moved him so that his head was in his lap, and in a few minutes, the man was out like a light. It wasn’t terribly late, and he had brought an overnight bag, so he got comfortable on the couch. He took out his phone, shoot a photo of the sleeping man and sent it to Viktor with the caption _He’s worse than Potya_. Then he saw an unopened message from Otabek

> **Beka**
> 
> How is Katsudon?
> 
> **Yuri**
> 
> Ridiculous. He’s sleeping like a cat, on  
> MY lap, if you believe it. Worse than Potya
> 
> Bad day?
> 
> Yeah. Did I tell you they fought? That’s  
> why I offered to come.
> 
> Yeah. You did a good thing. They’re  
> tired, I bet.
> 
> Exhausted. I don’t know what else to do.
> 
> You’re doing more than enough.
> 
> I wish I really felt like that.

Another message popped up, an answer from Viktor

> **Old Man**
> 
> Спасибо, Юрачка.  
>   
> 

_Great_ , he thought, _now he gets sappy._

Yuri browsed Instagram for a while, looking his feed of cat pictures, then put away the phone and was almost going to kip on the couch (he really didn’t want to move Katsudon alone, and didn’t want to wake him up either), when he heard the sound of the key in the door. Viktor came in, apparently composed, but his masked slipped off as soon as he turned towards the sofa, the pain in his eyes clear and unmasked, and Yuri felt it like a punch in the stomach. He decided not to remark on it, and put a finger on his lips: the older man nodded, putting his jacket away in the wardrobe.

“How was the meeting?” Yuri asked, voice low and soft, foregoing any greeting. The man came closer, knelt in front of the couch and turned towards Yuuri first, then to Yuri above him.

“Good. The offer is interesting, and they proposed a donation for the research on leukemia, which I appreciated.” Yuri nodded. It wasn’t often that apparently decent sponsors came up. “How is he?”

“Tired. He ate a little more than half bowl, he felt some nausea but he kept it down.”

“The therapy was hard today.” Viktor said, “I almost didn’t go to the meeting.”

“He’s feeling guilty that he forces you to take care of him.” Yuri said. Vitya looked at him stricken, “I told him that he’s stupid, he cried, then he calmed down.”

“Let me bring him to bed.” Viktor said, “Then we’ll get a tea, ok?” Yuri nodded without protest, even if at this point in the evening, he had had enough tea to last him a whole week. Katsudon didn’t even stir when Viktor took him in his arms, his head only adjusting to lay better on the old man’s shoulder as if he was on a pillow. Yuri got up and followed Viktor. He helped by pulling down the covers of the bed and taking the fleece blanket back to the sitting room. He left the two men their privacy, although Katsudon was really out of it. For lack of things to do, not really feeling like going to bed yet, he filled the kettle and switched it on, taking out a couple of filters of the herbal teas Viktor preferred in the evening. Weird habits taken in Japan (and weirdly passed to him too). Just as he was dropping the teabags in the mugs, Viktor came out of the bedroom, one hand through his hair, tired and dejected.

Yuri wanted to scream.

“Come on, old man, you can’t possibly sleep without your evening drink.” He tried to lighten the mood, and just as Katsudon had answered well to it, Viktor too smiled gratefully at him. They sat down at the table. Viktor took the tie off and loosened the shirt. They sat there, in silence for several minutes. Then Yuri took the jam off the fridge and put a good dollop in both mugs, taking away the teabags and passing then one to Viktor.

“Thanks, Yura.” He said. Yuri would never think that he would regret not being called _Yurio_ , and yet, here he was.

“It’s just tea.” He answered, dismissing stupid sentimental Viktor. Or trying to.

“Not for that. Or, not only. Thank you for this morning and this evening. We were almost fighting.” He finished, hiding behind the mug.

“Hey, it’s okay. It happens. You’re both stressed. It sucks, that’s it.” He answered.

“Yeah. It sucks.” Viktor fell silent after that, but he seemed less keyed up.

Tea finished, Yuri stood up.

“I’m going to bed. Mari arrives tomorrow morning, right?” he asked.

“Yeah. She’s staying a week or so.”

“I’ll change the bed tomorrow, then. Goodnight, Vitya.” He said, putting a hand on the older skater’s shoulder. He startled when Viktor intercepted him and hugged him for a brief moment,

“Goodnight, Yurachka.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Спасибо, Юрачка = Spasibo Yurachka = Thank you Yurachka
> 
> NepturnalHarianne here, the beta! Last week we were looking at the comments (you people rock, btw!), Enid told me that you were all talking about the feels and crying, and the conversation went something like this:
> 
> Enid: And you know, I look at these chapters and think, this is not the feels-crying part yet.
> 
> Me: I know! Isn’t it great to make people suffer?
> 
> Great times, yeah?  
> Just as a reminder though, this fic is not out to hurt you!


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on Schedule (more or less!)
> 
> And: Visits!

Mari would never get used to traveling with Aeroflot. It was a nightmare, and the three-legged journey didn’t help _at all_. She had at least been able to get some shuteye on the longer Tokyo-Moscow section, but as she arrived in St Petersburg, nerves and worry started to get to her. She had texted and called Yuuri, but she knew how prone to hiding his discomfort, his pain, her brother was. If they had any semblance of regular update, it was because Viktor had taken unto himself to keep them in the loop. She knew that the chemo was hard on Yuuri, and that, although the support therapies helped, he was his usual stubborn self and Viktor was clearly suffering from the stress of it, and of the situation.

Nonetheless, Nikiforov was at the Pulkovo Airport waiting for her first thing that morning, and she was grateful she didn’t have to take a taxi.

She waited for the people before her to pass the glass wall, and then approached Viktor.

“Hi,” she said, finally seeing him properly in close range. He looked _terrible_ : his eyes had dark circles, his hair was in disarray, probably from his hands messing with it constantly, and, overall, he didn’t seem to be taking care of himself at all. “Good grace, Vicchan, you look like shit.” She blurted, and then cringed when Viktor winced.

“Good morning to you too, Mari.” He answered, polite nonetheless, and she felt even worse.

“I’m so sorry! Twenty hours of flight destroyed my filter, and it’s not very good to begin with.” Mari hugged him, as apology, and felt how heavily he leaned on her. She held him tighter for a second, before he straightened up, plastered that terrible fake smile on his face, _and_ took her luggage.

“Don’t worry. I had a rough night, that’s all…” he started.

“Yuuri?”

“No, actually. He slept like a log; his therapy yesterday was tough.” He answered, his tone lowering. “Just my head, messing with me, I’m afraid.” Mari tightened her lips. Those two idiots, they were clearly made for each other.

“Is Yuuri at home?”

“Да. There’s Yura with him. I had to go to a meeting with a sponsor yesterday and your brother was adamant that I went. Yurio stayed with him.”

“I bet he’s loving not having a moment to himself.” Mari deadpanned, well aware that her brother sometimes (well, more often than most) wanted, needed, to stay alone, and even more aware that she would be as bad as Viktor.

“That’s a way to put it.” Viktor said diplomatically. He put the luggage in the car and opened Mari’s door, closing it as soon as she was comfortable inside, and then got on the driver’s seat.

“I know how you feel, the more you want to be close to him, to help him, the more he rebels and becomes snappish. I’ve incurred in his wrath several times. I’m sure it’ll happen this week too.” She said as he got in on the other side.

“I’m incredibly grateful that you’re here…” the man said, his voice sounded strangled.

“Of course, Vicchan. He’s my brother, and you’re my friend too, if not proper family.” Silence fell until they arrived at the apartment complex. They rode the elevator and Viktor opened the door with his keys, insisting once again to carry her suitcase.

Inside, a blond teenager she hadn’t seen in what felt like ages greeted them.

“Oh, finally. I thought Aeroflot was on strike again.” He drawled, coming towards them.

“Hi Yurio.” She answered, and accepted the unexpected hug he regaled her with.

“Hi Mari.” He answered, with a tiny smile. “Katsudon should be out in a minute, and I made coffee.”

“Why, Yurio, such a host!” she joked, passing her coat to Viktor. It was strange being in Russia, when last time she had seem them all they’d been joking at Viktor and Yuuri’s brand new (although not so much unexpected for her) engagement in Barcelona. It seemed a lifetime ago. It was barely a month.

Her musings where interrupted by the door of the bedroom opening. Yuuri appeared on the threshold, dressed in soft and warm clothes. Mari’s heart clenched when she saw the shadows under his eyes (twins to Viktor’s) and his sunken cheeks. His hair was floppy, visibly less thick (she was just so grateful that he wasn’t bald or she would have really burst out crying). His eyes were slightly glassy and Mari couldn’t help but stare, in horror, as they filled with tears. Yuuri moved, slower than she was used to, towards her, and she met him in front of the sofa. She hugged him tightly and noticed with dismay that he had already lost weight compared to when they had last hugged in Hasetsu, few days before, and he hadn’t felt so fragile in her arms then. She hid her face in his shoulder, tightening her hold, trying to get her emotions under control. Yuuri didn’t need another bleeding heart. She would probably slip up, she knew, as she knew that it would be ok, in the end, but at least in that moment she tried to keep a leash on her emotions.

“Hi, Mari-neechan.” Yuuri murmured on her shoulder.

“Hi, Yuuri-kun.” she managed to answer, her voice didn’t quiver: she counted that as a victory.

Mari _hated_ that damn hospital, she _hated_ the IV they put on Yuuri, she _hated_ the marks on her brother’s arms, she _hated_ that he had to suffer this. One thing she didn’t hate? That refrigerator cap! He had put it on his head, grimacing for the cold, and when he had secured it under his chin and turned towards her, she had simply bursted laughing, without even trying to keep it low.

“Oh my, Yuuri-kun, you are too cute!” She exclaimed, “You look like a jellyfish.” Viktor had to pursue his lips, trying not to laugh too if she was not mistaken, betrayed by a bit of mirth in his eyes, while Yuuri glared at her, first, and then joined the laughter. He seemed to fare a little better, after, and the therapy didn’t disturb him as much. That evening at their house, Mari even cooked katsudon for the four of them (because Yurio had an automatic invitation at their home, ESPECIALLY if there was katsudon, even if it meant more practice the day after).

She joined them at the rink every morning, seeing Viktor and Yurio train with deliberate purpose. The first days, Yuuri even skated for a while, and Mila had to explain to her that he was making a new program (and how glad she was, hearing it!). The fourth morning, though, he donned the skates but only took the ice for a few laps. She tried to distract him, but in the end just ended up smothering him, until he sent her to get tea and a walk, in a clear bid to get rid of her for a few minutes.

While she queued at the cafeteria, Mari thought about how difficult it was, keeping things normal when all she wanted was to shelter her little brother from any hurt.

Even if she knew that it wasn’t possible.

She was grateful for Yakov Feltsman, who had managed to successfully distract Yuuri by putting him to work. Even more when she understood that it wasn’t out of pity, but out of genuine respect. Yuuri always came alive while teaching children, and she could see the talent Feltsman was talking about.

The week came to an end all too quickly. In Viktor’s (and Yuuri’s) apartment, she hugged her brother for a long, long time.

“Call after every landing, will you, Mari-neechan?” he asked, putting a bit of distance between them.

“Sure, Yuuri-kun. Call okaasan more, maybe?” She pointedly looked at him. Pot, kettle.

“I’ll try. I was glad to spend this week together.”

“Even when I drove you mad?” she grinned at him, and got a smile in return.

“Yes, even then.” He hugged her again. Mari had never been hugged so much by her brother. It was strange, but she was glad for it.

“I have to go now. See you soon, little brother.” She gave him one last peck on the cheek, not really something she used to do, but Europeans had rubbed off on her, apparently, and went to the door. She watched as Viktor went to Yuuri and gave him a sweet kiss on the lips, making her brother blush.

“I’ll be back soon, rest up.” He lingered, unwilling. She got that.

“Yes, now go before you make her late!” he answered, laughing. They seemed to be a little more balanced, and Mari hoped that it lasted, at least for a little while.

*** ***

Yakov had to admit that Katsuki had more backbone than he had originally given him credit for. More than a few people he knew would have broken under that pressure, and while the first day had been exactly what he had expected, it hadn’t been like that afterwards: Katsuki had kept on training, he had gone and won a well-deserved gold medal in Japan, he had made sure that _Vitya_ kept training, of all things, and even now, while under chemotherapy, he was at the rink every morning, and when he didn’t have the strength to keep practicing, he was glad to help the others, without an ounce of jealousy or pettiness. Georgi had finally come out of the slump in his step sequence, Mila had refined her triple Flip, even Viktor practiced with a single mindedness he had rarely seen in him, and Yakov couldn’t even begrudge him the occasional break to check on Yuuri: the situation clearly warranted a bit of leeway, even from him. Yura was less bitter and more motivated, and he especially liked to have Katsuki check on his progresses, something he could see very well even through the though boy act.

One of those mornings, Katsuki had insisted to come to the rink, he had even put his skates on, but Yakov could see that he was particularly tired, from the paleness of his skin, and the slump of his shoulders. The sister, Mary or something like that, he thought, was fretting too much, until Katsuki snapped and asked her to leave him be, to take a walk and let him breathe.

Yakov waited until he was alone and less angry, took Vitya’s jacket and plopped it on Katsuki’s shoulders (the man had spent the last five minutes brushing his own arms up and down). The Japanese skater looked up, surprised.

“Would you be up to overview the youngsters? I have to check on Yura and Gosha, but I have a couple of novices here to work on their spins and they could use your help.” He said. For a moment, Katsuki’s eyes misted and Yakov felt a surge of panic (no, he didn’t want him to cry, if he cried then Yura would become a harsh brat, Vitya would start wailing, Georgi would get dramatic and they would all need to rely on Mila and just no, no, no… Russians and tears didn’t mix well!), but then he shook his head and smiled at him.

“Oh… yes, Coach Feltsman, gladly.” He smiled a little, at that: he wasn’t his coach, but Yakov really liked that the man was respectful.

“Come on, then, let’s see if they’ll be able to keep up with you.”

He left Yuuri with the two children and after a moment of flustered fluttering, he took up the work, and Yakov was impressed by his use of Russian terminology, although they all spoke a mix-match of English and Russian at the rink. Katsuki kept Viktor’s jacket on his shoulders, he even got onto the ice when he had to correct the children posture. He helped them concentrate, chastised them when they would distract themselves, but he also tried to explain clearly, and Yakov could see the influence of his ballet training. Lilia had praised that a lot, he remembered.

Yakov was leaning on the walls, surveying all his skaters, when a cup of tea appeared in front of him. He turned to his right and saw Katsuki’s sister… Mari, he was pretty sure.

“Oh, Miss Katsuki, thanks.” He said. She smiled, a bit sad but still sincere.

“No, _thank you._ I was driving him crazy.” She admitted with a shrug.

“It’s not easy to see the people we love suffer.”

“It’s even harder when it’s your younger brother and you’re afraid he won’t see another birthday.” The young woman sighed. Yakov wasn’t great at comforting people, so he just put a hand on hers.

“He’s resilient. He can’t stand being fussed over too much because he needs to feel useful.”

“Is it why you put him to coach the children? Just something to do?” she asked, and her tone suggested that he should thread carefully on the answer, not that he needed to.

“Oh, hell no.” he said, chuckling gruffly, appalled at the very thought. As if he would give his students over to someone who would mess up, that would just leave him to teach everything from scratch again, a complete waste of time. “I did that because he’s _good_ at spins and at teaching. He’s patient, he knows damn well what he’s doing, and he won’t give them more than they can chew. I wouldn’t give my students, even the greenest novices, to just anyone, Miss Katsuki. In a way, I’m scouting for my replacement in few years. Goodness knows Vitya is not coach material. He can learn, he’s a very good choreographer, but coaching is something more. And I think your brother has it.” Mari nodded.

“Will you tell him?”

“No, I don’t want to distract him. But this is good practice, and knowing him, he won’t think much of it.” Mari chuckled.

“No, he won’t. Thanks Coach Feltsman.”

“Call me Yakov, child.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okaasan = Mom  
> Да = Yes


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... it's not always sunny... but storms pass
> 
> Warning for slight codependence

The week with Mari had been good, a much-needed reminder of happier times; it had not been that long since he had been together with his family, but the stark difference in his health and stamina made it seem that much further back.

He felt so tired, in those last days. He struggled with skating in the morning, but he _needed_ to go at the rink, even if sometimes he just ended up on a bench with Vitya’s jacket on (and one memorable time, Mila, Georgi and Lilia had literally rolled him in blankets, because he was cold and shivering and uncomfortable, but he refused to go home. Yurio probably had photo evidence).

Yakov had at least found him something to do, and he was quite honored to be entrusted with the younger skaters. It should have been a one shot, that one time an exception, but Yakov kept bringing novices, a couple at the time, to the main rink: spins, step sequences, how to translate Lilia’s ballet lessons on the ice, a couple of times even jumps (because yes, he was ill, but he was still perfectly capable of doing perfect single jumps). The children (except one) hated when he had them doing figures, but sometimes that was all he could manage, and Yakov still taught them to this day (he was still stunned from that time in which Yakov Feltsman himself had said that his figures were textbook perfect, way better than Vitya’s. Viktor had maybe beamed more than him at that. Sometimes his fiancé was _weird_ ).

He usually spent the time Vitya trained in the morning helping the children, half in the English they were learning, half in the Russian he was starting to speak (he had learnt the technical names a long time before, when he had started following Viktor and all he could find were grainy, low-resolution videos in Russian… after a while, the terminology had ended up sounding familiar). Sometimes he had to bodily go on the ice and show a move, or put the children in the correct position with his hands, because they didn’t understand, or he couldn’t explain, and it reminded him of Viktor doing it to him. The children enjoyed spending time with him, they called him тренер Yuuri, to distinguish him from Coach Feltsman, and he enjoyed it too: it reminded him of _why_ he had fallen in love with the ice. Ekaterina had taken to run to him with a hug when she arrived, before getting her skates and doing Euler after Euler; Lyubim was shy and was almost afraid the first few times he had seen him, and he reminded him so much of himself when he was a kid (Nishigori still bullying him had not helped at all). He was the one who loved compulsory figures and Yuuri enjoyed teaching him those: trying to get his edges clean, and the figures repeated one after the other seamlessly. Stepan liked to entertain and he always had new stories to tell about school, he loved doing spins and performing; and Larisa reminded him so much of Yuuko, with her gentle disposition: she loved step sequences and ballet. All that, and then there were always Yurio, Georgi and Mila asking him for tips. They kept him busy, his mind blissfully far from that room in the hospital, at least until he had to go back in again.

The person who was really getting more on his nerves, to his enormous annoyance, was Viktor.

Sure, they rarely spent an hour apart, and it surely was a stressful period for everyone, but _he had promised_ : he had promised to concentrate on his skating.

That morning, it was obvious that it would not happen.

Yuuri hadn’t had a good night, he had woken up to nausea, dry heaving, scaring himself and Vitya, and the man had held him until he had fallen back asleep, and goodness knew he was so grateful for that, and he loved him so much.

But Viktor Nikiforov _could not fall on a triple toeloop!_

Yuuri had spent the whole day fuming, answering with increasingly snappish remarks to his lover, who, to his ever increasing annoyance, didn’t take the hint.

They went back home after the hospital in a frigid silence. That is, until he stumbled while getting out of the elevator, and Viktor hurried over to hold him up. He shook off his hands and stalked inside. The door closed behind the other man, while he went to the kitchen, looking for something to do.

There were no mugs to put back, no plates left out: even the kitchen counter was spotless.

“Yuuri…” Viktor said, and even if it was only his name, Yuuri could not rein his temper in anymore, his vision tunneled in.

“Did you ever intend to keep your promise at all?” he asked, bluntly, turning in a haste towards Viktor, his tone accusatory.

“Wha…” Viktor’s eyes widened, in them he could see surprise, and a hint of fear. Good.

“You’re always on me, saying I should rest, I can’t even wash my damn mug in the evening because _you do it_.” He seethed, “But the only thing I really asked you to do, apparently that is not important!” Viktor kept looking at him, eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. He was tired, Yuuri could see it, but he was too angry to stop, too keyed up. “I have never seen you flub a _fucking_ triple toeloop! Do you want to get injured, are you looking for an excuse to skip the European championship? Do you ever think of what you promised me?” His voice cracked on the last word, and he decided to ignore it altogether, he would break otherwise.

“I always think about you…” Viktor answered, truthfully, his expression achingly open.

“I don’t want you to ruin your career, or worse, get injured because _you think about me_. I’m not worth that!” Yuuri said, traitor tears sliding from the corners of his eyes. Viktor stalked forward and Yuuri was startled by the firm hold of his hands on his shoulders, holding almost too tight. Maybe just barely tight enough, lately he had treated him like he was a piece of glass.

“You are the only thing that really counts in my life, you cannot ask me not to think about your wellbeing, it’s impossible. You’re not only worth it, you’re everything!” Viktor’s voice wavered a little, before regaining strength and conviction, the same of his holding hands. Yuuri’s hands grabbed Viktor’s wrists, keeping him exactly where he was.

“Vitya,” his voice shook on the endearment, “ _You_ are everything to me. I was worried sick, I thought you had broken something today. I _need_ you to be ok, otherwise I’ll go out of my head.”

“Yuuri, my Yuuri,” Vitya said, and finally, after days of soft, trembling touches, Yuuri felt liberated by the bone crushing hug he was enveloped in.

“I told you that I need you to skate. I cannot skate as much as I’d want, but watching you glide on the ice, fly up, up in the jumps,” Yuuri murmured in Viktor’s ear, “it makes me feel like I’m doing it too, makes me looking forward to _when_ I’ll be able to do that again.” He said. Viktor started crying, “I don’t want you to bottle everything up, I’ve never wanted that. Talk to me, Vitya.”

“I’m scared shitless, Yuuri,” Viktor interrupted him, in a harsh whisper. “Every time you cough, or take more time in the morning to rouse, to wake up. Every night you fall asleep on the sofa. I’m scared.”

Yuuri felt tension slide off his spine, something he had not even been aware of.

“I know,” Yuuri sobbed, “I’m scared too. But I’m less scared when I’m with someone, and I’m the least scared with you. And when you’re on the ice, I’m always with you, and I fear nothing.” Vitya’s hands cupped his face and their lips met in a soft caress. Yuuri pushed into it, reveling in Viktor’s moan, in his warm hands _finally_ touching his hair He spared a grateful thought towards Mila and the other, he happy that the cap was working on him, just because he loved the feel of Viktor’s fingers in his hair.

Yuuri didn’t let Viktor say anything, he pulled him in the bedroom walking backwards, and laid down on the bed, his grip unrelenting, until the other man was draped over him, on the bed. He briefly disentangled from the kiss, “I want to feel you, here and now. And then you’ll talk with me, and then we’ll get dinner, ok?” Viktor looked at him, pleasantly stunned. 

“Ok. Everything you want, золотце.”

*** ***

Yakov didn’t know what had happened, but a few days after Mari Katsuki’s departure, Viktor, after a few _very_ bad practices, started coming back to himself, on the ice and out. He was finally focused, concentrated on his programs and perfecting his skating, and not a moment too soon: they would leave for Bratislava in a week. He would have painted the air blue swearing about Viktor and his moody dramatics if they weren’t, for once, for a justified reason. Katsuki seemed a bit more animated, he had more energy, and Yakov secretly enjoyed very much how the Japanese was drilling Vitya, without even needing a small prompt from him . Slowly, Yakov had started giving him some freedom when they trained, and that day he had conveniently gone away for ten minutes just to see what would happen. Vitya was working on the step sequence, and those were always his weak spot: he worked hard at them, and deserved the high marks he got, but Katsuki had a fluidity and surety of movement that Viktor could only dream.

“For goodness’ sake, Viktor, I’ve learnt to do the Ina Bauer from you when you were like 17, bend that leg properly! And why does your hand look like a shovel? Where are you putting it?” then Yuuri got to the ice and bodily moved Viktor’s limbs.

Yakov laughed when he saw Viktor’s face, a mixture between incredulity and indignation. Katsuki was definitely less gruff than him, and had taken some habits from Vitya’s first attempts at coaching that were unorthodox to say the least, but he was already good.

“Good job, Katsuki, he always forgets that hands count. I’m impressed you managed to learn anything at all from him, especially about presentation.” He deadpanned, getting back to the rink wall. The Japanese skater blushed and stammered, while his own student protested.

“Ah, sorry, Coach Feltsman, I didn’t mean to…”

“Hey, I was serious, good job. It is nice to see that _someone_ listens to me, even if it’s second hand. Vitya! Go back, I want to see this from the start, and for goodness’ sake put that hand in its proper place!”

A figure walked to him, short black hair appearing on his left.

“You are mean, Yakov,” Gosha said, “Testing him without even telling him.”

“I’m sure he would botch anything if I talked to him,” Yakov smirked, “and I didn’t see you complaining yesterday when he helped you with the camel spin.” He added.

“I’m not stupid, coach,” Georgi grinned, “I can recognize a good thing when I see it.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, you wouldn’t see one if it kicked you on the ass. And get back to training, you won’t win any medals if you don’t get a move!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Тренер = Trainer/coach


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Europeans Championship!!  
> And some Yuuri-Phichit time, well needed!! 
> 
> (Sorry for the one week hiatus, real life becomes hectic and I was behind on sending the chapters to my beta...)

Viktor hated hiding things from Yuuri, but this was for a good reason, at least. They were waiting for the analysis results, so Yuuri’s treatment was currently paused. Even if he still had to get transfusions, he felt slightly better, and was able practice on the ice. Viktor’s heart had lurched in his chest when he had seen Yuuri’s elated face that morning as he managed to make some practice runs of the pieces he had of the short program he was preparing. He didn’t even know if Yuuri had picked a song yet, he had only marked the jumps, and the spins were barely a level one, but he had created it piece by piece while ill… Viktor had been floored by the power and the longing behind it, he wanted to see it for a full run, so much.

He shook his head and glanced around surreptitiously, but he was still unnoticed: he was waiting for none other than Phichit Chulanont at the airport, spacing out while still alone. It was around midday, and the day after the whole Russian crew, him included, would leave for Bratislava. He had been so tempted to give up the Europeans, but Yuuri wouldn’t have forgiven him… still, he hadn’t been at ease, worry eating him up, until Phichit had sent him a message, offering to come for a few days. Viktor had insisted to pay for the airfare, at least, and was currently looking for the smaller skater.

“Nikiforov!” he heard, and he looked up to see Chulanont a few meters from him.

“Welcome, Chulanont.” He said, trying to take the other’s luggage. Phichit deftly avoided his hand, just to envelope him in a half hug.

“Phichit,” the Thai man said, “you know you can call me Phichit, we’re friends.” Viktor smiled.

“Then you’ll call me Viktor. Let’s go? I know someone who will be very happy to see you.”

*** ***

Viktor had said he had a short appointment and that he would be home soon. Since Yuuri had started feeling less weak, Vitya had been better about leaving him alone – at least for short periods of time. It had been a relief, in a sense.

Viktor would leave for the European Championship in a day, though, and even Yuuri was a little worried about that, as no one he knew would be around. Well, it was bound to happen, sooner or later, they were just unfortunate circumstances.

He was tidying up a bit – nothing strenuous, _of course_ – when he heard the door opening. He turned towards it and he was about to call out to Viktor when he saw a person he _really_ didn’t expect.

“Yuuri!” Phichit (because that was Phichit!) exclaimed on the threshold, then he let his luggage fall and ran towards him, throwing his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuuri hugged him back out of sheer muscle memory.

“Phichit?! What are you doing here?” he asked, incredulous. He turned towards Viktor, who had entered the apartment and put the suitcase upright.

“Someone wasn’t too keen on leaving you alone for a few days and I missed you, and since we won’t meet at 4CC, here I am, in all my magnificence! It’ll be just like the good old Detroit times: we’ll watch Viktor here skate at the Europeans, we’ll eat too much, we’ll watch the Skater and the King,” Yuuri groaned, “shut up, you love it, and we’ll be our awesome selves. We should go to the rink too, otherwise Ciao Ciao will skin me alive.” Yuuri felt tears in his eyes. Oh darn, he didn’t mean to cry. He hugged Phichit again and let out a quick sob on his shoulder.

“Thank you.” He said. When he felt Viktor’s hand on his head, he turned and looked at him, beaming, just to transfer in his arms and close the distance between them with a kiss that made the older man jolt for a second.

The suspiciously familiar click of a shutter made him turn again. Phichit was looking at the screen of his phone.

“Awww, you’re so sweet!” he exclaimed. Yuuri felt his cheeks grow warm as Viktor sneaked his arms around him, chuckling. He felt his love’s hands cupping his face, the thumbs wiping the wetness under the eyes.

“I take you’re happy?” the Russian crooned, smiling.

“Yes, yes, I am.” Yuuri agreed. He was very happy, he hadn’t seen Phichit in six weeks, and in itself it wouldn’t have been unusual, but with all that had happened, he was just grateful that his friend had come to St. Petersburg. He had repeatedly told Vitya that he would have been fine on his own, and it would have been true, but the wait for the analysis unnerved him and having Phichit there would just be so much better.

*** ***

He felt his smile falter for a microsecond and thanked the fact that Yuuri was too stunned to notice it before he got his dismay under control. He hugged Yuuri tight, extra tight when he felt how much weight he had lost, and began word-vomiting as usual, to cover the sadness that threatened to overwhelm him. Yuuri didn’t need it.

Besides, he and Viktor were so sweet that it erased the bitterness, and he couldn’t help getting a photo of them. He forwarded it to them. Well, and to Chris because they had bonded over their OTP and he knew the above-mentioned OTP wouldn’t really mind.

Phichit made himself scarce the morning after, when Viktor departed for Bratislava. He had asked the Russian for a good café where to pick some breakfast delicacies to cheer Yuuri up and, as he stepped inside the café, he thanked google maps and international data plans for not getting lost.

While he waited in line to be served, his phone vibrated. He took it out and saw a message from his coach.

**CIAO CIAO**

Hi Phichit. How is it going?

**PHICHIT**

The Russians leave today. I’m getting comfort food.

Don’t overeat. And don’t make Yuuri overeat.

Don’t worry. And at the moment, he could do  
with a pound or five more

  
That bad?

I didn’t expect it yesterday. Viktor says  
the nausea hasn’t even been that bad.

Fuck. Coraggio Phichit.

He pocketed the phone and momentarily lost himself in the variety of pastries. He ended up buying a few more than maybe strictly needed, but… hey, they had a skating marathon to look forward to, they needed fuel!

Phichit couldn’t believe his eyes nor his ears. Again, in another interview (it was the day before the short program and the press was seemingly relentless) someone had asked Viktor news on Yuuri that went beyond the agreed statement ‘ _He is currently following the doctors’ orders and asks for his privacy’_.

Yuuri was aggravated by this, he had said, frowning and ranting in that careful way of his about how he would not usually care much, but the constant questions about his health would just distract Viktor from skating. Usual selflessness aside, he was probably right, seeing as Viktor on TV seemed either in pain or on the verge of punching the interviewer.

“Is he going to strangle him?” Phichit asked, munching pop-corn.

“Either Vitya or Chris will. No way, he’s insisting!” Yuuri exclaimed.

“I’m fed up with this…” said Phichit, and pulled his phone out, opening Instagram. He shot a photo of the television, capturing Viktor’s grimace and the subtitles that translated the offending question, and uploaded it in the app.

_It is astonishing how dumb and rude people can be. @v_nikiforov made his statement and this so-called journalist still wants to pry in Katsuki’s private life, disturbing the concentration of all the skaters who have their competition! Keep the questions about SKATING, you morons!_

_#ISU #iceskating #figureskating #viktornikiforov #katsukiyuuri #respecttheskaters #respect #talkaboutfigureskating #mindyourownbusiness #bratislava2016 #europeanicefigurechampionship2016 #instafigureskating_

Phichit looked at the TV as some of the skaters on the background (Plisetsky, Nekola, and the Crispino twins) took their phones out and tapped rapidly on them. He watched in his phone how the likes and comments started to pile up. When the journalist tried to insist again, and before Viktor could open his mouth, probably to curse him, Yakov appeared from behind and put an end to the charade.

What followed was even more interesting, as the other skaters being interviewed (Giacometti, Michele Crispino and Georgi Popovich) all berated the journalists for their lack of tact and launched the hashtag #talkaboutskating to the moon.

“Oh my god, Phichit-kun, what did you do?” Yuuri asked, finally looking at his phone and laughing.

“Justice was due.” Phichit said, solemnly.

“Oh, my hero.” Yuuri deadpanned, and Phichit burst out laughing, followed by his best friend. “Viktor is thanking you for the post, he says that that was genial.”

“Oh, what my life has become, praised by none other than Viktor Nikiforov for my social media skills!”

“While you eat junk food in said Nikiforov’s house, on his sofa, in front of his TV?” Yuuri added, with a fake-skeptical look.

“That, my friend, is more a nod to what _your_ life has become, being the fiancé of the man responsible for your bisexual awakening!”

“PHICHIT!”

“It’s true! Does he know about your posters?” he asked, and Yuuri stuttered something incomprehensible. “What? Yuuri?” Phichit turned towards him, “Are you trying to tell me that he saw them? When?” Yuuri blushed viciously, up to the very top of his ears, and Phichit eloquently raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“When we were in Hasetsu… for New Year’s Eve. He thinks they’re cute…” Yuuri confessed, averting his eyes.

Phichit let out a roaring laughter at that.

That night, Phichit logged with his anonymous user on several websites and passed at least one whole hour snickering and giggling.

MEDIA SECTION

 **Phichit-is-my-king** GO PHICHIT, tell them! Journalists are so annoying!... on a different note, this is not Chulanont’s home neither in Thailand nor in Detroit, where is he now, when 4CC is basically around the corner? (it isn’t, I know, but still, unusual?)

 **Figure-skating-is-my-soul** Uhmmm… I have already seen that TV and that furniture, but where? @Phichit-is-my-king, let me look in my archive, I might have details for you!

 **Mila-my-queen:** @Figure-skating-is-my-soul, it seems soooo similar to the Russian photoshoot in 2015, maybe? I loved Mila’s photo next to that library, but I can’t remember where they were…

 **Phichit-is-my-king** @Mila-my-queen YES! Details! Details! Gimme!

 **Figure-skating-is-my-soul** FOUND IT… Oh for Heaven’s sake, it’s Nikiforov’s house!

 **Mila-my-queen** If it’s Nikiforov’s house, then… those legs…

 **Katsuki-foreva** Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, my freaking gosh, sorry I’ve just logged in, I didn’t even look at the other comments, oh my gosh, those are the 2014/2015 practice sweatpants, remember the ones he had in the videos they took of the training in Detroit, with the silver band down the inside of the leg that curved around the ankle?! That is Katsuki! Is Chulanont at Nikiforov’s house with Katsuki-senshu? Oh my gosh, I might die!

 **Phichit-is-my-king:** Ooooh, my BROTP IS REUNITED!! Phichit must have gone to St. Petersburg to keep Yuuri company, my sweet ducklings!!

 **Katsuki-foreva:** This is too precious!! My cinnamon roll is ill and I love how the skaters are grouping around him!

 **Mila-my-queen:** @Katsuki-foreva, did you see Mila’s video in training from last week? Now that you made me notice the detail about the sweatpants, I’m almost sure he’s in the background of the shot showing a layback Ina Bauer to someone!

 **Katsuki-foreva:**!!!!!!!!! @Mila-my-queen I HADN’T!! *going to see it* OMGOMGOkarfjg<aliksjzdh òl<hJA IT’S HIM, it’s grainy and out of focus, but I’d recognize that curve of the back anywhere! Oooh, look at him helping the children!!! *melting in a poodle of goo… no it’s not a typo*

When Phichit showed the thread to Yuuri, he had the glee to see, in first person view, the half horrified/half chuffed expression spread on his face,

“You used to do the same with Viktor, Yuuri, so don’t get coy _now_!” he told him, before both of them burst into laughter.

Phichit followed Yuuri to the ice rink the morning after. In the afternoon they would watch the short programs, but that morning Yuuri had said that he felt good enough to practice for a while.

They warmed up properly and joked around, enjoying the slide of ice under their skates. Phichit was happy to see his friend laugh and generally happy. After a few minutes, Yuuri stopped and called him.

“Hey, Phichit, I’m trying to think about the songs for next year.” He stopped in front of him, curious.

“Oh. Do you already have an idea of the programs?” he asked, going to take his phone.

“Yeah. Different pieces for the short and free skate. I can show you, if you want?”

“Sure! This way I can get a feel of the rhythm you are looking for.”

Phichit stood on the side of the rink while Yuuri took place at its center.

He skated on, gaining speed, crouching in a flying sit spin, changing the foot and then opening up, right hand in the air, to start a step sequence where hands moved in an elegant flow, almost distracting from the smooth back skating on different edges and feet, kneeling on the left, dragging the flat of the right, hands curving around his body. The rhythm wasn’t syncopated, it looked solemn, like a hymn, a hymn to life and resilience and love, which was never lacking from Yuuri’s skating. Even at his worst, love was what brought him on the ice. The step sequence opened, Yuuri gaining speed for an axel jump (only single, thank goodness), and then another step section, body flowing to an unheard music. It was obvious that he had rehearsed this part more than the others, his footing surer and more precise. And then it seemed like the music would gain momentum, and the movements had more breadth, with a wonderful layback Ina Bauer leading to a mesmerizing combination spin.

“That’s all I have for now.” Yuuri said, skating towards him, and getting his breath back. Phichit’s heart clenched, seeing this huge difference with the Yuuri he was used to. “I only did a single Axel, but there’ll be a triple there.”

Phichit didn’t answer immediately: the flow of the program, and the longing and hope in it brought a song to his mind. He went to the music station, connected his phone and looked for the specific song he had in mind, and then to the specific section. He pressed pause.

“Would you try it again on this song? I’ll record you on your phone.” He proposed.

Yuuri looked at him puzzled, then, said “Oh… ok!”

Yuuri returned to the ice and Phichit pressed play.

The sweet and haunting guitar spread in the rink as the bridge from Who Wants to Live Forever played. Phichit could only smile while his instinct proved right once again: it was like he had been choreographing for it all along, with only minor tweaks. Yuuri stopped and turned towards him, beaming.

“That’s perfect! Thank you, Phichit!”


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Europeans! Some external point of view!

The first priority of the day after the short program was avoiding journalists and, possibly, the Angels. He was never particularly diplomatic in the first place (Yakov always said he was a polemic little shit), but he would probably curse them all to hell with how annoying most of them had been the previous day. Yuri didn’t really enjoy having Lilia on his case, if he were to lose his temper. He was tempted to call Otabek, but it was midnight in Almaty… he bit his lip, debating if it was worth waking Beka up, when his phone rang with a video chat call. He slid the cursor on the green side.

“Isn’t late night or so in Almaty?” He heard a slight chuckle on the other side, while Otabek’s pixelated smirk appeared on screen.

“Like I wouldn’t stay up to watch the short programs in any case. I’m only happy I guessed right about you being free. I was ready to give you an out from the journalists, though.”

“I evaded them. It’s for their own good, after yesterday I wanted to kick them all.” He sat down on the hotel bed, kicking his shoes off and using the free hand to massage his toes.

“Avoid bloodsheds, Yura, it’s not polite to the cleaning staff.” The Kazakh sing-songed and Yuri snorted. “By the way, congratulations for the first place in the short program.”

“Thank you. Viktor made a stupid mistake. That’s all.” He grumbled, hugging his knees to his chest while keeping the phone with both hands now. He couldn’t see his own face, unlike with Skype, but he saw Otabek’s darkening and heard his sympathetic hum.

“It’s tough for him.” He didn’t beat around the bush. Yura appreciated it.

“It sucks, you can say it.” his mouth bent in an all too familiar unhappy grimace.

“How are you?” he hated and appreciated Otabek at the same time for this question. They were all so worried about Katsudon and the idiot that sometimes he forgot to take time for himself.

“Could be better. I hated seeing him all weak and stuff from the chemo. At least that stupid cap Mila and Georgi bought worked, and he’s not bald. He was a bit livelier when we left, but he’s nervous because he’s waiting for the results. We all are.” Yuri admitted, as he could only with his friend.

“Is he alone now?”

“Oh, no, his friend, Chulanont, came to stay with him. Viktor surprised Yuuri.”

“Good.” Otabek nodded approvingly. They chatted some more, before Altin let out a massive yawn.

“You’re tired, Beka, it’s almost 1 am in Almaty. Go to sleep.”

“Yeah… talk tomorrow?”

“Sure. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Yura.”

Yuri closed the call, somewhat less angry now that he had talked with his best friend. A knock on the door interrupted his musings about how weird it was for them to be so close after less than two months. He got up and opened the offending door.

“Hey, Yurio, do you want to go to dinner?” it was Viktor. “We’re all going together just downstairs, the hotel secured a secluded area for skaters only.”

“Sure, whatever. As long as there are no journalists who cannot mind their own fucking business.” He said, putting the trainers back and getting his phone and the key for the room.

“Come on, don’t get angrier now.”

“They were awful with you and I’m happy that all the other skaters called them out on their bullshit.” Yuri regretted his words when he felt Viktor’s hug, waiting for him to start shouting about how much he had grown up and to mess with his hair. It didn’t happen, though, and Yuri returned the hug, relaxing a little.

“Спасибо.” Viktor said, holding him tighter for a second and then releasing him.

Yuri hoped that Katsudon would just hurry up and heal because that shit was becoming too weird, and he was getting way too soft.

*** ***

They hadn’t seen each other since the Grand Prix, and after Katsuki had fainted in world television their communication had mainly been through messages and a few calls when Viktor needed them. Chris knew how bad the whole situation had hit Viktor: when he had fallen for Katsuki, he had fallen hard, and this was a natural consequence. Chris couldn’t even blame him. Sure, they could have done without this mess, though.

His patience had lasted until after the free skate, when Viktor had recovered enough to get the gold ( _again),_ and a grumbling Plisetsky silver (Chris wasn’t too annoyed by his bronze), but it was _definitely_ time for them to go out. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he went hunting for the gloomiest European gold medalist. He knocked at the hotel door and Viktor opened, although he was at the phone. He looked surprised, but smiled and gestured him in, while still talking.

“Yeah. I know. Oh, come on Yuuri, it was fine.” Chris smiled at Nikiforov’s petulant tone, “Yeah, yeah, I slept fine.” Viktor caught his eyes and mouthed ‘sorry’. He mouthed ‘Say hello’ back. “Uh, love, I have a person here, wait a second.” And Chris found the phone thrust directly at his ear. He grinned, putting out his best sultry voice.

“Hey beautiful, we all miss you and your magnificent bottom, and your fiancé is moping helplessly! Who’d think that Viktor ‘Smooth’ Nikiforov would end like this, hopelessly in love?” Yuuri’s half embarrassed laugh on the other side made him grin.

“Hi Chris. Please, get him out, have fun, won’t you?” Katsuki asked. How perfect were those two for each other? Was it even possible?

“Sure thing, sugar, I’ll also bring him back to his room in one piece and mostly dressed.”

“As long as you don’t let him challenge others to drink Vodka, you know it’s not fair.”

“No, no, no, mon ami, how cruel do you think I am?” He kept his tone light, the epitome of innocence, and would have even blinked with huge eyes, were they talking face to face.

“Very cruel, actually. May I talk with Vitya again?”

“Oui, mon petit. _Vitya_ , your fiancé wants you.” And he grinned at the other skater for good measure, “When you’re finished, I’m just outside waiting: we’re going out, so dress up!”

He didn’t have to wait too long, and Viktor joined him with a small smile and a hug.

“Thank you, Chris.”

“De rien, mon ami. Let’s go out, oui? You need some distractions, and your fiancé ordered me to get you to have fun.” The Russian man smiled again, although rather sadly.

They ended up at UFO, and the elevator ride was worth the ticket. They dined in the round room deck; the small tables bathed in purple. The tasting menu was wonderful, too. Still, Vitya was off and Chris decided that it was time to address the elephant in the room. More of a mammoth now.

“Viktor…” he started, and that word was sufficient. The other skater stopped trying to recount one of the last episodes of drama put up by Plisetsky, and looked at him with eyes so filled with anguish that he felt like he had been punched in the stomach. “Come on, my friend, let’s go for a walk.”

They paid and went down, until they found themselves strolling along the Danube.

Chris walked in silence, waiting for his friend to talk. They arrived on the Stary Most Bridge and started crossing it, the muted sound of the sparse traffic giving them a bit of privacy. When they were in the middle, Viktor turned towards the direction they had come from, looking at the UFO and at the dark waters.

“I just want this all to end, Chris.” He sighed, “I want my Yuuri to be well and happy and…” he banged his hand hard on the railing “I can’t do anything. I’m basically the most useless piece of trash ever, and I keep messing up and making Yuuri worry, and,” he sniffled, uncaring of the tears that had started falling. Chris knew that he was frustrated.

“Vitya, this whole situation is terrible. But you _do_ help him. He loves you and needs your love, and yes, he also needs to feel like he’s helping you and not only being helped.”

“I know. We talked about it and we’ve consoled each other a lot. Still, I’d like nothing more than to heal him and I can’t.”

Chris had never heard Viktor sound so defeated. He hugged him, trying to convey how he just wanted to shield him, shore him up and let him regain his strength, in peace but not alone.

“I know. There’s nothing I would want more now than for you two not to be in this situation. But you are, and still, you really do a lot for him. Most of all, you have to believe in him, Vitya.”

“I do. I’m the most convinced believer in Yuuri Katsuki, even more than himself.” Chris smiled at the confident tone.

They stood in silence for a while, disentangling from the hug and looking at the supposedly blue waters of the Danube (it was rather greenish, actually, at least with those lights).

When they decided to head back to the hotel, though, Viktor’s shoulders were slightly less slumped, and Chris even managed to make him laugh by recounting his coach’s reaction at his ideas for the following year.

So, Chris considered his mission accomplished, after all.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm just leaving this here and then..." *the author runs away*
> 
> *A piece of paper floats on the floor, face up, the readers can see the writing saying,*
> 
> "I'm sorry, I swear it ends well!!"
> 
> Let's say that Yuuri's battle is not finished yet.

On Saturday morning, Phichit and Yuuri planned for a nice day in: after going to the rink two days in a row, Phichit didn’t want Yuuri to overdo it (especially since it was up to him to check in on the man. He took his responsibilities very seriously). While they were discussing the merit of takeout vs grocery shopping, Yuuri’s phone rang. His friend frowned at the number, mouthed ‘sorry’ and answered, going next to the window. Phichit didn’t pay much attention, until Yuuri’s voice took a strained note.

“Yeah. I can come now, if it’s ok. Yes, I have someone with me. See you in a few.” He hanged the phone and Phichit felt a chill down his spine: Yuuri was pale. “It was doctor Gusarova, she needs to speak with me as soon as possible.” his flat voice worried him even more. “Please, come with me?” he pleaded, at the end, faintly. Phichit’s heart fell: Yuuri was afraid. He got to his friend and hugged him.

“I’ve got you.”

The taxi ride was silent and tense, and Yuuri latched on his hand almost painfully, not that Phichit cared, he just latched back just as hard.

The doctor’s office was white and cold, or at least so it seemed to him. Yuuri was still gripping his hand hard, while the doctor talked, but his face appeared neutral. He knew it was only a mask.

“Mr. Katsuki, while the situation has improved compared to the start of the treatment, I don’t feel at ease with these results. That’s why I called you on such a short notice.” The doctor’s expression was sincerely sorry, and the set of her shoulders made it clear, she was determined not to give up. Phichit appreciated it.

“What…” Yuuri’s voice was almost breaking, Phichit moved closer in silent support as his friend cleared his throat and started again, “What are my options now?” he asked, his voice now as firm as he had ever heard it.

“You could have another round of chemo, hoping it will finish the job. But considering your age and the resistance of the cancer, I would frankly advise you to think about a bone marrow transplant…”

Phichit paid close attention to everything doctor Gusarova said, his mind running at full speed to form a plan.

One hour and two blood samples (one each) later, they were back at Yuuri and Nikiforov’s apartment, and while Yuuri went to his bedroom to call Viktor, Phichit took hold of his phone and declared war to leukemia.

*** ***

It was lunch time in Bratislava, and the single figure skaters had the day free. Chris had gathered their friends and Viktor was still surprised when, looking around, he saw all of them. Emil Nekola talking with Michele Crispino (apparently a truce?), Mila chatting with Sara, Yura and Georgi were stuffing their mouths while talking with Chris. Everyone included him in their chats, and he didn’t think he had ever felt so much a part of the group. It would have never happened if not for Yuuri.

That was the moment his phone went off, and the duet version of Stammi Vicino rang. It was Yuuri’s ringtone.

“Oh, sorry guys, I need to take this.” He said, before sliding on the green mark. “Hi Золотце, what’s up?” he answered sweetly. He felt his smile falter when Yuuri’s wet sob was the first thing he heard. “Yuuri, love? What happened?” He asked, worried. Around him the chatter stopped abruptly and his friends all turned towards him. He didn’t focus on them.

“Doctor Gusarova called,” Yuuri said, his voice slightly steadier, “and she said that… she said that,” he heard Yuuri take a deep breath, “I’ll need a bone marrow transplant.” He spit out, and then he broke down. Viktor felt as if the time had stopped, and blood had stopped in his veins.

“Золотце, are you alone now?” he asked, his voice somber.

“I’m in our room,” he answered ( _our_ ), “but Phichit is in the guestroom. He came with me.” He added and Viktor mentally thanked the Thai skater for being there. “Vitya… I’m scared.” Yuuri confessed.

“I know, love…I am too. But it doesn’t mean we’ll stop fighting, right?” he tried to infuse all the certainty he could (and didn’t really feel) in his words. His Yuuri needed him to believe that more than himself.

Yuuri’s relieved sob put tears in his own eyes.

“Right… I’m just glad you have already had your free skate: I would have hated calling you before it and I don’t think I would have been able to wait… I’d have ruined it.” He said, and Viktor ached to be in St. Petersburg.

“Yuuri, you are more important than…” he was interrupted.

“I know. I’d have hated it nonetheless.”

*** ***

The table fell silent when Viktor’s voice changed to that worried note. If it was Katsuki on the line, it couldn’t be good. They were trying to understand what was happening when every mobile at the table except Viktor’s rang with a notification. When he opened his, he saw that it was Chulanont, and gestured the others to check it: it was on the group chat the Thai skater had created the day Viktor had announced Katsuki’s leukemia.

**Chulanont**

Bad news. The leukemia is weaker, but  
still there. He needs a transplant. I’ve  
already given a blood sample, do you  
think you can organize something there?

**Babicheva**

Damn. Maybe we could ask the ISU medical staff?

**Plisetsky**

Fuck.

**Sara**

I might know one of the doctors,  
she works at the clinic we use at  
the rink.

**Chris**

And I have contacts with the higher ups. Sara  
contact your doctor, I’ll take care of the rest.  
Guys, keep an eye on Viktor.

**Chulanont**

Super. I’m going to distract Yuuri  
as soon as he’s done with the phone.  
He has to call his family.  
Keep me posted.

**Chris**

Sure thing

When he closed the phone, Viktor was ending his own call. The Russian skater looked at the phone for a second more, before abandoning it on the table and hiding his face in his hands, letting out only a haggard sound. Chris rose from his seat, but Plisetsky and Popovich beat him.

“Giacometti, go on with your part, we’re taking over here.” The younger skater said, and Chris was impressed at the lack of swearing.

“Ok. Call if you need anything.”

“Sure.” Georgi answered, while the two men escorted Vitya towards the elevator.

Chris turned to the others.

“Ok. Sara, Michele, go and find the doctor. Mila, Emil, do you want to come with me? I’d prefer having some back-up.”

“Sure, Giacometti, let’s go.” Nekola said, uncharacteristically somber.

*** ***

Yuri told himself to remember to _never piss off_ Mila and Sara at the same time. Chris had managed to convince the ISU to declare the blood samples that were been gathered as a sponsored initiative against leukemia in solidarity to Katsuki, to raise awareness, bla bla bla, and to add the skaters to the bone marrow donor list… charity events were always good publicity. Then, when it had been his turn (because even if he didn’t _really_ like needles, he wouldn’t do less than anyone else), the doctor had tried to refuse as he was underage. He had been on the verge of shouting at him, because it was all right to vampirize his arms for fucking anti-doping checks (like he would EVER consider that shit, he liked to win fair and square, thank you very much) when the two women had literally descended like vultures, telling the doctor that it was not good to discourage people from doing the analysis, especially the young ones, that tons of people followed Yuri, that it was good for him to give the good example… and then threatened him with things that Yuri _really didn’t want to think about ever again._

He had given his blood tribute, with Yakov’s hand on his shoulder keeping him still and his voice droning to distract him (because _fucking needles and fucking blood)_ , and now he had a band aid on the arm for the trouble.

He shot a photo, and as agreed between all of them, he posted it on Instagram.

‘Done! Just a blood sample, and you can become a bone marrow donor! It’s just a tick!’

#no #ihateneedles #butitwasforagoodcause #needlessuck #beingillsucksmore #bonemarrowregistry #bonemarrowdonations

A message popped out immediately after.

**Beka**

Are you ok?

**Yuri**

I’m fine. I hate needles.

I know. You were brave. I read  
the group message. It sucks.  
My appointment for the blood  
sample is tomorrow

Thank you. Good. I hope it’s  
one of us skaters.

Skype in 15’?

Sure

*** ***

Just out of the medical office, Viktor was keeping his arm bent after the withdrawal, while he watched his rink mates and competitors go inside to do the same. He couldn’t help shooting a photo, which he sent to Yuuri.

**Viktor**

Look at them. We cannot lose.

**Золотце**

You’ll make me cry! Again!  
Thank them all.  
How did you do it?

I didn’t. I think Chris, Mila, Sara  
and Phichit are behind all this.  
They organized everything in, like,  
two hours?

Good god.

Yeah. Terrifying.

My flight is tomorrow early in  
the morning. I’ll be home soon.

I miss you.  
I’m not really in a good place  
right now. Can I call you?

Whenever you want, love.

Viktor lived in a blur the successive hours. He didn’t really remember doing the exhibition skate, he just recalled picking a cute poodle plushy from the ice. He had it in his bag, so he could give it to Yuuri.

The transfer from the airport to their apartment seemed at the same time never-ending and shorter than usual, and the world came back into focus only when he was opening the door.

It was midmorning, but the apartment was pretty silent. He turned the corner just to see Phichit in the kitchen putting food away. He must have had heard him because he was looking in his direction.

“Welcome back, Viktor.” He whispered. “Yuuri didn’t sleep a lot last night, so he’s catching up. I’ve made breakfast, then I’ll be at the rink, if I don’t train today Ciao Ciao will have my hide.”

Viktor nodded, getting rid of the coat and leaving the suitcase and the handbag at the entrance.

“Hi Phichit. Thank you.” He would have said more, if the door of their bedroom hadn’t opened in that moment revealing a disheveled Yuuri, clearly exhausted, and with his red rimmed eyes fixed on him as he was a dream.

“Vitya…” his lips moved in the name although the voice was so low, he didn’t hear it. Before Yuuri could move a step forward, Viktor had already crossed the living room and had gathered the man in his arms. He barely registered Phichit’s “I’ll be back later” and the subsequent sound of the closing door. The only sound he really heard was Yuuri’s raw, haggard sob. He picked him up, letting him get his legs around his waist, and brought him back into their room, where the curtains were drawn and little light came in. It was their refuge, and the morning light shining in the living room hadn’t seemed benevolent, putting on stark display the shadows under Yuuri’s eyes, the tear streaks on his cheeks, his pallor. He sat on the bed, keeping Yuuri over him.

“Золотце…” He felt wetness where Yuuri’s face pressed against his neck. “Come on, Yuuri, let it out.” He knew his voice wasn’t as steady as he wanted it, but there was nothing he could do. Yuuri’s arms tightened on his shoulders, keeping him close. “I’m not going anywhere, дорогои.”

“I… I know that… it’s just. Fuck, it’s unfair.” Yuuri managed to spit out. Viktor took a tissue from the box on the bedside table and used it to carefully and gently wipe his love’s face.

“Hi.” He greeted, when Yuuri’s eyes fell on him. He smiled, because even if the universe seemed so fixed on being against them, he was so, so in love with that strong, unbelievable, mesmerizing man. He would never regret taking that impulse plane to Japan, back in April.

“Hi.” Yuuri answered sniffling. “Sorry. I didn’t know I needed it. Again, I mean.” He was blushing.

“No need to be sorry. Hey, we’re not done, ok? The doctors said it’s tough, but you’re strong, you can do it.” Viktor tried to encourage him.

“You’ll have to believe in me more than myself, again, I’m afraid.” His fiancé answered, and Viktor couldn’t resist anymore and kissed him.

“Always, Золотце.”

Yuuri’s stomach’s growling startled them from their embrace, and Viktor laughed.

“Come on, Phichit left some food, and then we’re going to nap: you look like a panda, Yuuri.” Viktor said, trying – and succeeding – to make him laugh.

“You smell of airport.” He retorted, sticking his tongue out.

“Well, then, I’ll take a shower…” Viktor sniffed at Yuuri, “and you too!”

“This is just a ploy to see me without clothes.” Yuuri grumbled, following Viktor in the kitchen and pressing his face between the taller man’s shoulder blades.

“Now, Золотце, what makes you say that?” his tone was the least truthful thing in the world, and Viktor was happy to receive a small pinch in his side, before Yuuri’s arms encircled his waist as he warmed the breakfast over and prepared tea for both of them.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fairy Godfather to the rescue!!!
> 
> NepturnalHarianne and I have read way too many Mafia!AUs, I needed an escamotage to make the plot work, so here it is!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** This author doesn't endorse Mafia in real life in any way, but, you know, when you write you always need some slightly questionable solution.
> 
> Also, this signals the start of the part that, while researched, is more freely written.
> 
> Plot needed some sacrifices :D

Yuuri was trying to keep his spirit up, but as the results of the exams continued to arrive, he felt less and less sure of the outcome.

Fate seemed dead set against him: _of course,_ he was in that percentage of people where relatives (parents and sister) weren’t compatible enough. It wasn’t easy to keep his spirits up.

When Viktor’s results came in, they were negative too. Not only continuing the unlucky streak that Yuuri was caught in, but crushing Viktor’s hopes as well.

“I really hoped it would be me” Viktor confessed that night in bed, and Yuuri held him, the man’s face against his neck, Viktor’s right hand, with the glinting gold ring, pressed against his heart, while he continued, “I would give you more than blood…” and his heart lurched, while Viktor hug tightened almost to the point of hurting.

“Oh, Vitya… I know my love.” Yuuri was conflicted. On one hand, it was one less chance to find a donor, on the other… he debated confessing that to Viktor, but they _had_ promised not to hide anything important. “Vitya… I’m glad it’s not you.” He murmured into his hair, kissing it lightly, and tightened his hold when Viktor let out a protesting noise, “No, hear me out. I’m glad because while I would have been honored by such a gift from you, if it hadn’t worked… you would have seen it as a personal failure, and I don’t even want the risk of that happening. I never want you to feel like you’re not doing enough for me, Vitya, because you are. You’re doing plenty and I’m so in awe of you and of the love you show me every day.”

Viktor kissed him deeply, clutching him as though he could stop him from flying away, and _that_ was what he needed, Vitya’s touch made him feel _real_.

They spent the evening curled up in bed, and around midnight Viktor fell asleep in his arms. Yuuri felt a smile tugging his lips when he looked at him, so glad that he was at his side, that they were fighting together.

Now, he only hoped that fate would stop giving him bad cards and lend him a hand, instead.

*** ***

Yuri was following with increasing gloom the group chat with the other skaters, where one by one, each of them had written their results as they came in.

It wasn’t good.

It made him extremely nervous. It had already been four days since he had given the blood sample (and he still shivered thinking of the needle), and almost all other results had arrived (Yuri knew they had been sped up), while _his_ were nowhere to be seen.

His e-mail notification rang. He tapped on it and amidst commercial and social notifications, almost as though he had summoned it, there it was: an e-mail directly from the registry. He opened and scanned it quickly. They commended him for his gesture, and said that they would keep his records for when he got of age.

“What a _fucking bullshit!_ ” Yuri exclaimed, ignoring the rest of the bla bla and checking the PDF attachment. It opened on the phone, too small to read it, and Yuri pinched the screen and then put the fingers apart, to enlarge it. He started skimming the document, which had numbers and acronyms he had no clue about. It wasn’t until he reached the bottom that he saw the hastily and badly cancelled note.

‘ _HLA compatible with Katsuki. Discard, the subject is underage._

_Pity, it would have been perfect.’_

Yuri saw red. He let out a string of expletives in his mother tongue that would have put Georgi, Yakov and Viktor to shame (not Mila though), and started pacing back and forth in the room.

Luckily, Lilia wasn’t there or she would have skinned him alive. He tried to compose an answer to the mail, just to notice that it was a no-reply address. That was just fucking typical.

He took the phone again and called the first number in his list. Just after a couple of rings, the call connected.

“Yurachka, is everything alright? Why are you calling?” the familiar voice of his grandpa calmed him down a bit.

“Dedushka…” he started, gathering thoughts. Then, he explained about the e-mail, the half-cancelled note, “It’s absurd, Dedushka, it’s not even a problem with the physical part, it’s just… my age…” his voice broke, but his grandpa didn’t remark on it. Yuri was suddenly just… so very grateful for him.

“Yurachka, what do you want to do?” His grandpa’s calm voice grounded him.

“I want to do this. I want to help Katsudon, Dedushka, he’s… he could _die_.” Yuri would forever deny that the simple idea made him weep.

“Yura, I don’t know how it’s done, exactly…” he started, dubious, “A transplant can be tough for the donor too.”

“But this is the point: this kind of donation is pretty much the easiest one. They would take my blood, pass it through a machine that filters the bone marrow, and then give me my blood back”

“It’s still a needle, boy.” His grandpa said, a note of incredulity creeping into his voice.

“Against a life. I like to think that the Ice Tiger of Russia is tougher than that.” His grandpa’s chuckle signed his triumph.

“Ok, Yura, ok, I got it. I don’t know how to help you, but if you find a way, I’ll be with you and support you.” Yuri could finally sit down, the worst of his nerves gone knowing his grandpa would help him.

“Спасибо, Dedushka.”

“I love you, boy, never forget it.”

“I won’t. Love you too. I have to go, I’ve got phone calls to make, stupid pigs to save.”

“Yura… Keep me in the loop, ok? As soon as you have news.”

“Yeah. Bye, Dedushka.”

“Bye Yurachka, I’m proud of you.”

The call ended and, if before getting on with the following part of his plan he had to wipe his eyes and blow his nose… well, he was in his damn bedroom and he’d do as he pleased.

*** ***

It was early evening and Otabek had just come back from grocery shopping. Almaty was cold and he enjoyed getting in his warm apartment. He didn’t have anything to do that night, so he had picked up an easy-to-cook dinner and was browsing his streaming accounts to decide what to mindlessly watch before going to bed, when his laptop rang with a skype call notification.

Yura.

He turned off the TV and gathered his dinner, propping the laptop on the table and accepting the videocall.

“Otabek, I need help.” Yura said without any preamble. The phrasing put him immediately on edge. He looked closely at the screen and noticed, through the sometimes-pixelated screen, that Yuri’s eyes were slightly puffy, as if…

“Yuri, is everything alright?” he asked, giving the Russian his complete attention. He had seen Yuri like this only after Katsuki’s diagnosis. It wasn’t good. “You have cried.” He said. He watched Yura’s surprised face, unguarded for a moment, and felt a nudge to do something.

Yura seemed to ignore his quip and launched in the explanation. He read him the e-mail and then forwarded him the file with the note. Otabek hummed in all the correct places.

“And now I don’t know what to do. When I gave the blood sample, they told me that while underage I wouldn’t be able to donate, but there _must_ be a way!” he exclaimed at the end, and Otabek could see the determination in his friend’s eyes. It made him want to pull down any and all walls, to help him.

And maybe… actually, maybe he could.

“Yura… do you really want to do it?” he asked, plain, without judgment nor anything else. The green eyes on the screen looked back at him with steel resolve. The eyes of a soldier.

“Otabek, have you listened to a single fucking word I just said?” Yuri shot back at him, hackles raised, clearly peeved.

“Yes, I listened to you. Now answer my question.”

“Yes, I really want to save Katsudon’s life. Or at least I want to be allowed to try.” Otabek felt a swell of pride for his friend (and maybe it wasn’t his place to feel it, but… you cannot choose what you feel, right?).

“Ok. I might have a way to help you. Give me a day or two?” Yura’s face lighted up and Otabek thanked every deity that he was sitting down when the full force of that smile reached him.

“Really?”

“Really. I need to close the call, though, I’ll message back when I have news, ok?”

“Ok… thank you, Beka.”

“It’s nothing, Yuri.” He answered sincerely (and definitely chuffed because _Beka_ ) “Gotta go.”

“Yeah.”

Yuri closed the call and Otabek drew a deep breath. Worlds would be a nightmare, he already knew.

He took his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he got to the letter F. He tapped on the “Fairy Godfather” contact and brought the device to his ear.

“Altin, what’s up?” the man answered, as serious as he always was when he used this number. “Problems?”

“Not really, Popovich. It’s about Yura.”

“Did something happen to him? I saw him few hours ago at the rink, he seemed fine.” Georgi answered, puzzled.

“He received the results from the Bone Marrow donor registry. Long story short, they fucked up with the documents and turns out he’s a very good match for Katsuki. But they didn’t want to tell him because he’s fifteen.”

“Damn. How did he find out?”

“There was a note that wasn’t erased completely on the PDF. Can you do something?”

“I’m the Fairy Godfather, aren’t I?” said Georgi, “Let me take care of it. Is Yuri sure? I know he doesn’t like needles.”

“He almost took my head off when I asked him, so I suppose he is.” Otabek smirked at the phone, knowing Georgi couldn’t see him. The other man chuckled.

“Ice tiger of Russia through and through. All right!” he exclaimed, “Let me work my magic and everything will be ok!”

“I wouldn’t have called you otherwise.”

“Aww, our Beka is all grown up and takes care of other people’s problems!”

“I will hang up on you if you don’t stop.” Georgi laughed harder.

“Fine, fine… let me go, now, phone calls to make, blood to draw…”

“Georgi…”

“I meant Yura’s! Geez, don’t be a spoilsport, Altin. Talk soon?”

“Talk soon, Gosha, bye.”

“Bye.”

Otabek closed the call with a smirk, and then sent a message to Yura.

**Жолбарис** **Otabek**

I’ve called my man. He’ll get in touch

You’re scaring me.

Don’t. It’s alright.

Thank you.

*** ***

Otabek’s messages had reassured him… three days ago. He hadn’t heard _anything_ from _anyone_ and the nervousness was getting to him. He kept glancing, trying not to be obvious, at Katsudon every time he was on the ice. Sometimes he would have a somber look in his eyes, and he would watch the children, and the rink, and Viktor, like it was the last time he would see them, and this scared Yuri more than everything else: if he gave up, what else could they do? He sighed in relief every time he saw the resolve come back to those dark eyes, but couldn’t help wondering how long he would hold on.

Viktor kept watching the Japanese skater like an eagle, making him stop every time he got winded. Which was agonizingly often. Yuri wanted to tear his hair sometimes.

Yakov still made him train the novices, for half-days at least (the kids _loved_ him, and Yuri sometimes found himself watching them with a small smile, before scowling at himself), and that way Viktor could gethis practice in without worrying. With Worlds in little less than two months, the coach wasn’t pushing. Yet. He would though.

Yuri’s stomach gnarled in guilt, and he felt stupid for it. He knew he could help Katsudon, if _they let him_ , and a part of him ached to go and tell them, to relieve their faces of the pain he could so plainly see. But he couldn’t, because, as it was, it would have been like dangling water in front of a thirsty man without giving him any. Plus, even if he managed to donate his bone marrow, he wouldn’t really want them to know right away. Maybe even ever. If they knew beforehand, they might try to stop him because he wasn’t of age, and even afterwards… Dedushka always said that a true good person doesn’t speak of their good deeds. Yuri tended to agree.

He was getting out of the ice for a deserved break (and to see if he could get away with bringing a cup of hot chocolate to Katsudon without seeming too kind – although that specific cat might be already well out of the bag) when a heavy weight fell on his back and shuffled him just inside the locker room. He turned around, ready to lash back.

“Popovich, what the fuck?” he snarled, seeing his rink mate and not some creep.

“Oh, come on Yura, Gosha is fine!” the man smiled and Yuri really didn’t understand his happy mood. “And to think that I come bearing news, my ever angry котенок.” Before he could kick him with his knife shoes, Georgi whipped out a piece of paper with an annoying flourish, moving it right in front of his eyes. Yuri took it, his scowl getting deeper and deeper, and started reading the official-looking paper. After few words, his eyebrows rose to his hairline, especially when he saw his Dedushka’s signature at the bottom of the page.

He gaped at the man.

“What… how? And… you?” he knew he wasn’t making much sense, but it _was_ a _legal_ authorization for the hospital. To donate his bone marrow.

“A little bear told me that you needed… a little push,” Georgi made another dramatic pause. Yuri, already shocked, had to restrain the urge to yell at him, “And a little push I provided. This is ironclad, my котенок. Are you satisfied?”

“You mean that I can go and donate now?” Yuri decided that he would postpone any revenge to a later date, if that were the case.

“Да, котенок, but,” and Georgi got so serious it almost scared Yuri, “It’s imperative that you don’t utter a word to the press, and we’ll go and talk to Yakov, because he needs to be informed, ok?” Slightly taken aback by the sudden change, Yuri could only nod. “Хорошо! Then let’s go, the sooner, the better!” and Georgi stalked out of the room.

Yuri got his phone out and sent a message

**YURI**

Is your man Georgi???

**BEKA**

Ah. He did it. Good. Another  
completed mission for the  
Fairy Godfather

????

I’ll explain at Worlds…

You better.

*** ***

Yakov was two seconds away from sending everyone home. Mila was messing up every single spin (usually her strong point), Viktor couldn’t concentrate to save his life, although he was slightly less inclined to kill him: at leas he had a good reason. Yura and Gosha were nowhere to be seen. In the end the only one working in earnest was Katsuki, still training the younglings. When had his life become a soap opera?

He pinched the base of his nose trying to stave off the splitting headache that had been threatening him since that morning, when the two people missing in the rink came to him. He turned, ready to yell murder at them, when he caught Yura’s expression, and the words died in his throat.

“Can we talk in your office, Yakov?” The teenager asked, without even a swearword. That’s how he knew that it was something serious, and he couldn’t help a small shiver: Yakov hoped it wasn’t anything bad. They had already enough problems on their plates. They moved to the office, where Yakov closed the door and sat down, foreseeing a long and extenuating conversation. He even pondered takingout the good vodka, but reconsidered. Maybe later.

Then Yura started talking.

Well. It wasn’t exactly what he had imagined, and he really, _really_ didn’t want to know what Georgi had exactly to do with it, but as Yura explained the reason for the document and what he’d have to do (and wasn’t Yakov pleasantly surprised at the amount of thought and at the effort the teen had put to gather all the info he needed?) he felt relieved. And scared. He hoped that it would work, otherwise Katsuki wouldn’t be the only one let down.

“That’s why,” Yura went on, “I don’t want anyone else to know that it’s me, especially not Katsudon. He would freak out.” The intense gaze of his 15-year-old pupil suddenly made Yakov feel _old_.

“Ok. But you can’t go to the hospital alone, and I cannot come with you now. Would you be ok to go with Lilia?” he asked. Yura nodded.

“Yes. But no telling the old man or Katsudon,” he stressed again, and Yakov rolled his eyes: he’d prefer to be in a soap opera, there would be less drama. Where was that drink when he needed it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> котенок = Kitten


	18. Chapter Eightneen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are finally moving on!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY, I forgot to put a Content/Trigger warning!!
> 
> Thank NepturnalHarianne for being my guardian (read dailyplanner) and shouting (read: message me on FB like "didn't you want to put a TW there") at me when I do these things (read: if my head wasn't attached to my neck I would forget it somewhere XD) !! 
> 
> I'm going to put the summary in the end notes, the scene will start and finish with bold **********!!

A whole week had passed since doctor Gusarova’s call. All their friends and family had been tested and no one was a match. Viktor was awed at the positive attitude Yuuri had tried to keep, but he could see how hard the time limit was hitting him, the cracks in his smiles to the children, the tight hugs at night, when he hid in his arms; Yuuri would have to sit through a second chemo treatment soon, if no match was found, and he was clearly trying to avoid thinking about it too much, and failing. Still, he came at the rink every day, he worked on his new programs (Chris had suggested a song for the free skate that Yuuri had loved), he even helped Viktor with his own, and then he trained the younglings (unfortunately, leaving Yakov with more time to yell at Viktor himself, but, hey, anything for love, right?).

Viktor was practicing his step sequence and implementing Yuuri’s suggestions when a sudden shout made him stumble: Yuuri had answered the phone and let out a startled cry. Skating as fast as he knew how, he reached him at the edge of the rink.

“Yuuri, what happened?” Viktor felt dread when he saw Yuuri’s tears on his face.

“Vitya… it was the hospital.” his voice was barely audible, but everyone had already gathered close by then, “They… they have a matching donor. I have to be there tomorrow morning.” His voice held disbelief and a timid hope, and Viktor almost climbed the wall, choosing to get out from the nearby passage, to get to him, to hold him in his arms.

“Золотце! It’s brilliant!” he claimed a quick kiss. Viktor wiped the tears from Yuuri’s eyes, smiling until his face hurt.

“Vitya…” Yuuri sobbed, too relieved for words, hiding his face in Viktor’s chest.

“Золотце мой, it’ll be alright, you’ll see.” He reassured him, with a hand on his neck.

Viktor startled when he felt another pair of arms around them, but gladly raised one of his to welcome Yura for a quick squeeze. They let their embrace go, Yuuri drying his eyes, when Yakov spoke.

“What are you waiting for? Go home and pack!” he huffed, with a rare smile, just to be hugged by a still half-tearful Yuuri. “Go on, son, I want you back here as soon as possible.” And Victor could swear that his voice had gone just tiny fraction softer. He nodded at his coach, trying to transmit just how grateful he was, then put his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders.

“Come on, love, let’s go home.”

Mila stepped up, clutching Yuuri’s arm and dragging him to her, before Viktor swept him away.

“See you in seven weeks, Yuuri…” she murmured, and then left her space to Georgi.

“I’ll text you when your fiancé is insufferable and when you’re back, we’ll a do a top ten of the most melodramatic moments.” His indignant ‘Hey!’ stole a laugh from Yuuri, so Viktor was happy about the ribbing too.

On the way home, in the car, Yuuri seemed to calm down a bit, just to gasp and start digging through his training bag’s pockets.

“Oh gosh… I have to call my parents!”

Viktor laughed, while, uncaring that it was late evening in Hasetsu, Yuuri called home.

*** ***

The inn was closing. Mari was tidying the onsen, Hiroko was still in the kitchen, finishing the list for the grocery shopping the day after. He was cleaning the last side of the hall, wiping the tables of the moisture.

Katsuki Toshiya knew he couldn’t really complain too much about his life, even if he was always worried about his son. He huffed, looking outside at the snow falling down, which reminded him of the day Viktor had arrived at their home. Unexpected like a last snow in April. He was lost in his musings about weather and fate when the Yu-topia landline rang. He got to the wireless phone before anyone else and did a double take when he recognized Yuuri’s Russian number.

“Moshi moshi.” He answered immediately.

“Otousan? Can you get okaasan and Mari-nee?” Yuuri asked without preamble, his voice pitching urgently.

“Sure, Yuuri, give me a moment.” He had already moved towards the kitchen and gestured to Hiroko to get Mari. “How are you?”

“Not bad. I have news,”

“Wait a second, I hear your mother and sister coming.” Toshiya handed the phone to Mari, “Put it on speaker, will you? I always press the wrong key and just close the call.”

“Yes, sure,” Mari pressed the right button, “Yuuri-kun, you’re on speaker now. Why did you call?”

“Hi. The hospital called. They found a donor! I’m going in tomorrow to start the procedure.” Yuuri’s voice was almost breathless, incredulous.

Toshiya’s eyes misted immediately, a rush of relief taking a weight from his shoulders, and his ears filled with Hiroko’s joyful shriek.

“Baby boy, is it true?” she took one of Toshiya’s hands and held it tight.

“Yes, okaasan,” Yuuri’s voice half broke, “Yeah, it is. I’ll call you tomorrow when I’m all set. I’ll have to be there seven weeks. The transplant should be on February 14th or 15th, in a week or so.”

“That’s good Yuuri-kun.” Mari was smiling, relieved. “I’m so happy they found a donor!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah… me too, Mari-neechan.” Yuuri laughed shortly, “I have to go now, we have to finish packing. I love you all, can you tell Minako-sensei and Yuuchan for me? I’ll message them when I’m in the hospital.”

“Yes, of course Yuuri. Hug Vicchan for me, will you? And tell him to give you a big hug in my stead.” Hiroko confirmed. Toshiya got a tissue and handed it to her to dab at her eyes.

“Yes, okaasan, I’ll do that. I love you all.”

“We love you too, Yuuri,” Mari answered, “Goodnight.”

“Rest up, son, we’ll talk tomorrow.” Toshiya added.

“Goodnight…” Yuuri answered softly, before hanging the call.

Toshiya hugged his wife and daughter close and thanked any deity that had listened to their prayers.

*** ***

When they got home, Yuuri’s phone was still chirping from Phichit’s messages. He had sent him a four-word text, and the Thai skater was now keeping the phone engaged. In the end, he shot him another message “Gotta pack, talk tomorrow!”, and after the last “YES!” that managed to loudly resonate even in written form, he relented, letting Yuuri take a breath.

Viktor in the meanwhile had switched the lights on in the apartment, and made his way to the bedroom, mentioning something about the suitcase and a last addition, or something like that. Yuuri closed the door behind himself, leaning on it. He put the phone on the chair on the left of the door and hung his coat in the wardrobe on his right. And that was when it hit him.

For seven weeks, he would not repeat those gestures. For seven weeks he would have to stay in a sterile hospital room, alone if not for the occasional nurse or doctor checking in, while his own bone marrow was destroyed (and yes, that was basically the bad guy of the situation, so be it) and then swapped with one from an unknown person. For seven weeks he would not be able to skate, not even go to the rink to help the young students with their Eulers and sit spins, or to watch Georgi’s bouts of drama, Mila’s elegant Biellman spirals, Yura’s forceful jumps, Viktor’s…

He wouldn’t see _Viktor_ for seven weeks.

**************

  
He felt his breath cut short and the sensation was so familiar he _almost_ (almost) welcomed it back after so much time. Or, at least, that was what he thought just before he gasped for lack of air.

Seven weeks without touching anyone he knew…

Yuuri wasn’t a terribly tactile person, but Viktor WAS, and in those ten months he had grown accustomed to his constant touch.

And he knew that, in theory, only… he hadn’t realized that it would impact him like that, and it had taken him by surprise. He slid down, crouching on the floor, then sitting with his knees up, trying to remember how to stop hyperventilating, trying to assure himself that no, he wasn’t falling into madness, nor having a heart attack, and failing. He couldn’t even hear anything beyond his own harsh shallow breathing, and he hoped, at least, to pass out soon.

The touch on his shoulder startled him, and raising his head, he was met with Viktor’s worried expression. His lips were moving but Yuuri’s ears were still ringing. His fiancé then took his right hand, swiping his thumb on the ring, and brought it on his own chest, pressing it down, and Yuuri felt Viktor’s chest raising and then falling very slowly. Slowly, he started mimicking him, faltering at first, and after a few tries he managed to drag a deeper breath. After a few more, his ears stopped ringing.

“Хорошо, золотце, good Yuuri, breathe in… breathe out. That’s it,” Viktor’s right hand was squeezing rhythmically his shoulder, and, slowly, Yuuri felt the claws of panic loosening their hold on him. When his breathing got back to almost normal, his legs splayed out, he was exhausted. “Золотце, can I hold you?” Yuuri nodded frantically: he still felt like he was going to float away. When Viktor’s arms encircled him, his muscles gave out completely, and he slumped against the warm chest of his lover. Sluggishly, he raised his arms slightly and wound them around Viktor’s waist, who, in turn, held him tighter. Yuuri closed his eyes and breathed in Viktor’s scent.

**************

Vitya had moved them on the sofa, and he couldn’t remember when. He couldn’t feel the coolness of the floor under his legs, though, and they were higher than the ground.

He hadn’t checked out like that since…

Ugh.

Since the day of the diagnosis.

“Ugh.”

“Hey, are you back?” Yuuri registered then that he was sitting sideways on Viktor’s lap, his legs slightly bent, resting on the couch with a throw blanket on them, and his head pillowed on the man’s shoulder, face against the neck. He groaned.

“Yes. I’m back. Sorry…”

“Don’t… don’t, Yuuri It’s alright, любов,” Yuuri sighed, hiding from the light again. Viktor still held him, kissing his forehead, his hair, even his eyebrows. “If you want to talk, I’m here,” Yuuri wondered how came that he had been that damn lucky (cancer notwithstanding) to find him, to really get to know and to love and to be loved by Viktor Nikiforov. He sighed again.

“It’s only… it hit me all at once… I won’t come back for at least seven weeks. I won’t even be able to come to Worlds…”

“Oh, Yuuri, золотце мой, I know. But if it means that you’re going to be okay…”

“We don’t know that, Vitya… it could still be all for nothing, I might…” his voice trailed away, a tendril of panic almost coming back.

He felt the arms dislodging from around his body and Viktor’s cool, elegant hands cupping his cheeks. He was pulled and pushed until his gaze met Viktor’s and Yuuri was slightly stunned when he saw tears in his eyes.

“Stop, and breathe… Do not even dare thinking about that, Yuuri. Don’t you dare. You cannot give up… if you do…” a sob escaped his lips and Yuuri found himself raising his own hands and wiping his lover’s tears, his mind suddenly calm.

“I’m _not_ giving up, ok? It’s… the anxiety, I run to the worst-case scenario and worry about it, but it’s because I _don’t_ want to…” he faltered, because in those weeks, even that day with Mari, he had never said the word, and it was scary. He steeled himself, though, if not for himself, at least for Vitya, “I don’t want to _die_ , and I’m scared. And now, I have a chance and I’m afraid it’ll disappear. I don’t want that.” Viktor pulled him in a deep, deep kiss, like they hadn’t shared for days (maybe even since Hasetsu) and Yuuri answered in kind. Vitya pushed and pulled until they were stretched on the sofa, and Yuuri groaned when Viktor’s body covered his, weighting on him just enough to make the tension leave his body, the last dredges of the panic attack finally melting away.

“Have I told you that I love you, today?” Vitya asked when they parted to breathe and Yuuri laughed, “Because I love you so very, very much, любов мой, моя звезда, мой золотце…”

“Viten’ka… Yes, you have told me today, you tell me every day.”

“And I’ll keep telling you every day even when you’re in the hospital. I’ll call you, we’ll skype, and the same will do the others. Heck, I’ll set up a video link with the rink so you can keep up with the younglings, correct Yurio’s posture,”

“See you skate?”

“Yes, see me skate too.” Viktor kissed his hands, “Your suitcase is all ready, and I added the last items: phone charger, laptop, and it’s not like I won’t be able to send more things in if you need them. I want you to enjoy tonight and to get in tomorrow in a good mood. It’ll be hard, but if anyone can do it, it’s you. Now, how do you want to spend these hours?”

Yuuri pretended to think about it for a few seconds, and then kissed Vitya again, smiling up against his lips. He had to cash in some kisses (and more) in advance for those seven weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Хорошо = Good, well done
> 
> Yuuri has his first panic attack since the diagnosis and has trouble breathing and spaces out. Viktor helps him through it.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are moving, and Yuuri is at the hospital and has to deal with all that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Am. So. Darn. Sorry!
> 
> I know I haven't updated in a lot of time, but it's being crazy here and I should definitely have more time considering we're almost in a second lockdown, but... not... ugh.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is a bit longer!
> 
> There are four warnings for this chapter, please go the end notes to read about them! 
> 
> The CW are marked in the text by a bold **-**-**-**

He was glad he had told Yakov and Lilia about the donation, because what he hadn’t really thought through was _how many damn injections_ he would need for it. Having Lilia there with him was the only thing keeping him from freaking out.

“Ok, Yuri, this is the kind of needle you’ll use. It’s a small one, it just needs to go under the skin. Make sure that the syringe has no air inside…” Yuri’s brain cut the voice out, nodding when it seemed necessary. It was that or passing out, and the latter wasn’t an option. Lilia put a hand on his shoulder, firm and supportive, while the doctor injected him for the first time.

Katsudon had better heal because he wouldn’t go through this crap for nothing.

“And that’s it!” the doctor exclaimed, dragging him back to the present, “You are very generous to do this, Yuri. It’s commendable.”

“It’s fu…” Lilia’s hand tightened painfully on his shoulder. Ouch. “Fudging needles, but I’ll do it.” The touch turned soothing. The doctor explained the procedure again, stressing the importance of disinfecting the zone interested and to not re-use needles, and then sent them on their merry (AH!) way.

Lila brought him to one of her favorite (and terribly expensive) tearooms and Yuri was treated with some of the best cookies and cake ever.

“I’m proud of you, Yura.” His ballet teacher’s words rendered him speechless for a moment, “You’re a brave young man.”

“Yeah… this is weird, can you switch back to yelling at me about my arabesque?” Lilia laughed. Weirder still.

“Very well. After your tea, though.”

They drank their tea together in silence for a short while, until Yuri looked at Lilia again, regaling her with a soft smile.

“Thank you.”

***** *****

Mila had to give the novices one thing: they had way too much energy. Since Katsuki had been hospitalized, Georgi and she had split the time he spent training the youngsters and… if she had been like that when she was younger, Yakov deserved a hug. Or a holiday. Probably a holiday.

She stretched, just out of the ice, and put her skate guards on, she would get changed, and then maybe go home to her sister, who had had another discussion with the dance professor who kept deadnaming her and Mila itched to go home, snuggle with her and watch Disney movies together.

First, though, she had to get changed, so she headed to the locker room. She was already mentally projected on her sofa when she heard a sound from the men’s locker room.

“Oh, fuck, shit… this damn… uuugh!”

She immediately recognized Yura, beyond any possible doubt. She chuckled and knocked on the door, it seemed like he was having a problem, and it probably was something stupid they could laugh about. She started pushing it open, angling her head just-so to peek in.

****-**-**-****

“Yura? Is everything al…” the question died in her throat when she saw him. He was at his locker, his shirt ridden up on his chest, and a hand was pinching the skin on his stomach, while the other held a _syringe_. Mila saw red, how _dared_ he? “What the hell are you doing with that?” she stalked forward and Yuri’s eyes got big and scared: he ducked, keeping the syringe behind him. “Are you fucking crazy? Do you want Yakov to kick you out? You’re only _fifteen_ , Yura! You don’t need that shit… of all people, you, DOPING!” she seethed. She moved again towards him, determined to stop him.

“No, Mila! It’s not that!” he protested, still wide eyed at her reaction, but she was too angry: countless athletes had ruined their lives like that, and she felt her stomach churn, furious at her friend, furious at whoever gave it to him, just to taint their _rink_ , their _home._ “Mila! It’s not doping, for fuck’s sake! And Yakov _knows_!”

Mila paused at that, gaze fixed on his, her eyes reduced to thin slits of anger.

“Yakov knows that you shoot up illegal substances?” she asked, incredulous. “I will never believe that, Plisetsky.” Yura stomped on the ground, keeping that syringe carefully aloof.

“He knows that I’m doing these shots, and they’re not illegal.” He said.

“Explain. _Now_. You have one minute.” Mila told him, crossing her arms.

“It’s a growth factor for bone marrow. I have to take it for five days, then they’ll harvest it and it’s all done.” Mila looked at him, putting it all together. Five days… bone marrow.

“So… you are Katsuki’s anonymous donor?” her tone had turned hopeful, because it meant that her friend wasn’t being stupid, he wasn’t cheating, he was as generous as she knew him to be. He nodded.

“Yeah. But I don’t want him to know, not yet, not even the old man. You cannot tell them…” he pleaded, and she watched, slightly terrified, as Yura’s eyes got damp, and his voice broke slightly, “If it doesn’t work, I don’t want them to try to comfort me…” Mila closed the distance between them and hugged him. He hugged her back.

“Aren’t you afraid of needles?” She asked, pointlessly, just to fill the silence: everyone knew that he was. He nodded on her shoulder and she couldn’t remember the last time he had really looked that young.

“Yeah. Poor planning on my part.” He chuckled.

“You are always so abrasive, you almost make people forget how _caring_ you really are, Yurachka. Come on, give me that, I’ll do it, it’ll be quicker.” Yuri looked at her, perplexed. “I help my sister with her injections, that’s where I learnt.” She peeked at the needle Yura was giving her. “These are hypodermic, they’re easy.” She supplied, and took the cotton and the rubbing alcohol. She rubbed a small dose of the disinfectant on his stomach, then pinched the flesh, put the needle in, depressed the plunger, and took the needle out, not giving him time to swear. “All done.” She announced, keeping the ball of cotton on the injection site. Mila looked back at Yura’s face, and saw his grateful expression.

****-**-**-****

“Thank you, Baba.” He said, taking the cotton and releasing her hand.

“You’re welcome, tiger. I’ll do it tomorrow too, ok? I want to help.” Yuri nodded.

“Yes, please.” Mila started to get out and then turned back on a whim and hugged a stunned Yura again.

“I’m sorry for doubting you… I’m proud of you, Yurachka.” She felt the boy hug her again. This date _had_ to go on the calendar, two hugs in a single day!

“It’s ok. It happens, I know what it looked like, I didn’t… I’m only afraid it’s all for nothing, you know? And apart from Yakov, Lilia and Georgi, nobody else here knows what I’m doing…” Mila hummed. Now she understood how _underage_ Yura could donate. The Fairy Godfather, yet again.

“Now at least you can talk with me, and I’m serious about the injections, I’ll do them.”

They split after that, Yuri trying to be cool again, but Mila felt so much better. At home, she snuggled with Kataryna as soon as she got there, and they spent the evening watching mindless TV. Not bad for a regular Thursday.

*** ***

The familiar sound of the Skype call connecting filled the room while Phichit took his hamsters out of their cage (also known as “the Castle”): it was strategic, he loved having them running on him and they never failed to make Yuuri laugh.

Phichit was worried: he knew that Yuuri didn’t really like (or deal well) with sudden changes, and the last few days had been even more hectic than usual (not to mention deciding to move to St Petersburg just before nationals, ugh!). Even if by message he seemed the same, he had learnt not to trust Yuuri’s ability to deflect by text in order not to make them worry. So, he worried, obviously. Duh.

Yuuri accepted the call, and the screen was black for a moment, then it flooded with light and big, enormous pixels.

“Hey Yuuri? Can you hear me?”

“Phichit-kun?” the pixels moved, and then cleared out, “Oh, I see you now.”

“Yeah, me too.” Phichit kept his voice level but once again he was blindsided by the quickness with which Yuuri had changed. This time, it was evident that he hadn’t been able to school or hide his expression on time because he saw Yuuri grimace.

“Sorry, Phichit, it… it’s the stronger chemo, not even the cap can do miracles.” He said, passing self-consciously a hand on his shorn head. The hair, once thick and dark, was now very short and showed some completely bald spots. It was uncanny how much it changed his looks.

Phichit bristled a bit with himself _and_ with Yuuri’s habit to always be sorry for things out of his control.

“Why are you sorry? It’s not like you chose this. I’m sorry that I was taken by surprise, I should have known better…” he tried to tell him.

“I don’t think anyone can really imagine how it is. Surely, I couldn’t…” Yuuri interrupted. He huffed, while he got over the shock.

“I hate that it happened to you.” His tone more somber than usual; he missed his friend and he hated being so far away.

“I hate it too. At least, I’m on day four, I’m halfway done with this. Then, it’s a waiting game after they infuse the blood.”

“How long until they tell you if it worked?”

“The first checkpoint is two weeks later, the second one after four weeks. If everything goes well, they’ll send me home after Worlds.” He sighed. “I’m already fed up with staying here.” Yuuri had a frown that Phichit knew all too well.

“I know, you hate being cooped up. Is the room big enough to stretch, at least?”

“Yeah. I can dance, if I’m not going with a grand jeté or something like that. I’m tired, though, so, maybe in a few days. I miss the ice.” Phichit snorted.

“No shit, you tried to go even when you had the flu. Hold on, bro, you’ll be back better than ever.” He smiled, trying to encourage him.

“I hope so. At the very least, Viktor was actually able to set up a video connection and I can still follow the kids’ progresses.” Phichit smiled, asking him about his _students_. He was still wondering how Yuuri had not realized that Feltsman was basically grooming him as a coach. Even Ciao Ciao had thought so, when Phichit had told him about Yuuri’s duties at the rink.

“Oh, Georgi and Mila are helping them, although they always want to know what I think. Oh, did I tell you? Lyubim’s mom is one of the nurses here! They all sent me get-well cards…” Phichit laughed when he recognized the people in the drawings, especially Viktor’s way larger-than-in-real-life forehead.

“I guess Viktor was so happy about that forehead…” Phichit joked. Yuuri snickered.

They talked some more, and when the hamsters started climbing in his hair, it set off Yuuri’s laughter even more. Phichit felt very accomplished.

Waiting was unnerving, though. After they closed the call, he took the phone and got on the group chat.

**YUURI’S UPDATES**

**PHICHIT**

I just talked with him. He’s bored.   
If you video-call him, fair warning:  
they had to cut his hair very short  
and he’s embarrassed. I was taken aback.

**CHRIS**  
I was surprised he hadn’t  
lost it until now.

**GEORGI  
** This Chemo is stronger, Viktor said.  
It has to destroy his bone marrow.  
  
 **SARA**  
Why don’t we send him some scarves?  
Maybe silly ones. We can at least  
make him laugh.

**PHICHIT**  
That’s a good idea. Let’s send them  
to Viktor, he needs to wash them   
following all the hospital’s rules.

*** ***

****-**-**-****

_Washed out white hospital walls seemed to be closing on him. Doctor Gusarova was talking to him but he tuned her out as soon as the words “I’m sorry” escaped her mouth. Yakov had brought him out, down some stairs, lower and lower, around him the light was diminishing. His coach seemed older, and Viktor’s legs seemed to weight a ton, and breathing was getting more difficult with every step. At the bottom of the stairs, Mila, Georgi, Yura and Chris were waiting for him, dark circles under their eyes, tear tracks on their cheeks, they turned away from him, as if he were scum, as if he shouldn’t even be there._

_“No, no, no, no…” he murmured frantically._

_When the door opened, Mari was looking at him with rage and sorrow in her eyes._

_“You said that everything would have gone well, Viktor, you’re a liar…” she hissed. In front of him, Hiroko was crying in Toshiya’s arms, his gaze locked with Viktor’s and all he could hear was “Traitor”. He could hear Yuuko, Nishigori and the triplets cry as well, and his eyes were burning._

_A wooden casket in front of him, closed at first, and he felt Yakov’s hand leave his shoulder, everyone disappeared, leaving him alone with the dark wood. He couldn’t stop his hands, while, the “nononononononono” in his head grew stronger, he couldn’t stop them from touching the solid wood, from gripping the edge and pulling it up. He couldn’t close his eyes when he saw the content. Pale, sunken cheeks, lips almost the same color of the skin, the hair short and uneven and those eyes… the soulful ones he loved so much, the warm dark brown speckled with copper, those eyes were closed. Nothing moved the image in front of him, not the mouth opening slightly, not the chest raising in a contented sigh, and Viktor felt his own heart stop, while a ragged cry escaped his lips, his throat, his eyes burning with the image in front of him._

****-**-**-****

He woke up to Makkachin whining and licking his hand, to wet hot tears on his face and the deep sense of loss, of grief, residue of the nightmare that had pushed him awake. He sat up, the duvet sliding on his torso, one of Yuuri’s old oversized university t-shirts on him (because he wasn’t used to his empty bed anymore), and passed one hand on his face, dragging down the skin, trying to dry his eyes.

“Дерьмо.” He muttered. Viktor put both pillows high behind him and switched the bedside lamp on, then he took his phone. It was 2am, and he groaned: he didn’t think he would be able to sleep much. He had had other nightmares in the last couple of months, but with Yuuri at his side, breathing softly and sleeping tight he had been able to fall back asleep, or Yuuri had half woken up and held him until both had fallen back asleep. He didn’t have that privilege now. He opened his social apps, trying to distract himself, but the shadows of the nightmare didn’t dissipate. He ached to talk with Yuuri. Five days of absence and he was already crumbling down at the edges. He didn’t know how to last six more weeks. He was honestly terrified, he hated losing control, and control was the only thing he didn’t have. Out of habit, he opened facetime, looking idly if someone he could talk with was online. But in Europe it was quite late, even in other time zones, and he didn’t feel like disturbing Yuuri’s family or Yuuko. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to force the frustration away, when the call ringtone from the app startled him. As soon as he saw who the caller was, he pressed on “Accept.”

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he asked teasingly to a very pale, tired and awake Yuuri on the screen. He was genuinely glad to see him, and he knew that his face mirrored Yuuri’s soft smile. At least he didn’t have to fight his expression too much, as he had gotten used to his new look.

“Pot, kettle. I couldn’t sleep, I slept too much this afternoon, and I was texting with Phichit when I saw your icon light up. I miss you.” Viktor cooed at his fiancé.

“Aww, золотце, I miss you too.” He said. Just few words with his love, and the nightmare seemed dimmer. He saw Yuuri peering closer at the screen, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Are you okay, Vitya? Usually you’re asleep at this hour.”

“Just a stupid nightmare. And I’m missing my human pillow…”

“Don’t remind me, it’s so strange to sleep alone, now.” Yuuri groaned. Viktor chuckled and his phone moved slightly. “Oh…” Yuuri’s voice was teasing, “Is that my t-shirt, Vitya?” the man raised an eyebrow and hoped that the low light from the bedside lamp and the small screen hid his blush. No such luck. “Aww, Vitya,” he murmured, “I can’t wait until I’m back home.” Viktor could hear the longing in his voice loud and clear, a mirror to his own.

“I know, дорогои. I can’t either.”

“It’s just… this chemo is so much worse than the other… I want to go home.” He whined softly. It broke his heart.

“My love… two more days and then you’ll have the transplant.” He tried to be encouraging, uncertain of his success when Yuuri’s expression didn’t clear up.

“And it’ll be other six weeks before I can come back to you.” Yuuri’s face on the screen frowned, “And I’m also a bit afraid…” he admitted.

“Darling… I really wish I could hug you, I’m afraid too but… everyone is rooting for you, and we have to keep our spirits high, you need everything that can help you. I want you home as much as you want to be home, believe me, but if this is what you need to be okay, we’ll face it. I might not be there physically, but I’m always with you, okay?” Viktor sighed when Yuuri’s mouth pursed in a small smile.

“Yeah… thank you. It’s just… I’m tired and I can’t sleep. It’s annoying. Ah! Raissa, Lyubim’s mom, brought me the get-well cards from the children after her shift! Can you thank them tomorrow morning?”

“Oh, I saw them drawing those! I’m glad you liked them! I hope this time they didn’t give me all that spacious forehead again.” Yuuri giggled, and Viktor grinned. “They miss you too, you know? Mila and Georgi too, as the kids are driving them under the rag.”

“Oh gosh!” Yuuri laughed, and Viktor joined in. “Vitya… are you alright? I know you mentioned a nightmare, if you want to talk…”

He really didn’t want to talk, but they had promised, hadn’t they?

“I… a nightmare woke me up, as I said. It was… I don’t really remember it all now,” a small lie, he would probably remember it for a while, the sensation of loss, the weight of the casket lid in his hands, the sensation of void and loneliness. The feel of the tears on his face had even been real, “Everything had gone wrong and I missed you like a limb. That’s all. I’m already missing you, so it’s probably for that. It’s more difficult to sleep without you here.”

“I’m sorry, Vitya, but I’m still here, ok? You said that, we’ll be together in six weeks or so… it’s nothing, right?”

“Compared to the rest of our lives? Nothing at all.” Viktor answered, cheesily.

“You’re a sap. I have no idea of how I could ever think that you were cool, you’re the sappiest sap I’ve ever met.” Yuuri was grinning, and if his eyes were slightly damp, at least there was no one else to see.

“Still _your_ sappiest sap, I hope.” Viktor retorted, with a smile.

“Always. You know it’s always been you.” Yuuri answered, his voice softer, “Since the first time I saw you.” Viktor wanted to answer something equally soft, equally lovely, but when he opened his mouth to talk, a big yawn came out. “You’re tired, Vitya, I’ll let you sleep.” Yuuri said.

“Wait. Will… will you stay on facetime until I sleep? It’d help…” his fiancé smiled widely.

“Of course, love. Let’s get comfortable, then.”

They adjusted on the bed, propping the phone as if it were the other, on the pillow. Between a blink and another, Viktor fell asleep.

The morning after, he woke up, and immediately his gaze focused on his phone, still switched on (apparently, he hadn’t disconnected it from the charger… thank you smart yesterday-self), still on facetime, and on Yuuri’s peaceful sleeping face on the screen. He was scrunching his nose cutely, and Viktor’s smile came unrepentant, even as half asleep as he still was. A chuckle escaped him but he didn’t expect the sound to carry on the other side and wake Yuuri up.

This way, though, he got to witness those warm dark eyes opening and Yuuri’s expression: confused, first, then happy.

“Good morning.” Viktor murmured, softly, since talking loudly seemed too much for the hour.

“Hey… we’ve been sleeping with facetime on?” Yuuri asked, a warm smile spreading on his face.

“So it seems. The best sleep of the last few days.” Viktor said, longing to touch his love, even with the short hair, the pale, chapped lips, he wanted to caress the dark smudges under his eyes. He missed Yuuri, all of him, and he couldn’t wait until he could hug him again.

“For me too.” Yuuri was probably going to add something, but a soft knock reached the phone and Yuuri looked at the door. “I have to go. It’s breakfast time, then they’re coming to clean _again_ and then I have the therapy. It’s the last day today. Can we talk later?”

“Of course, love. I’ll video call from the rink later, don’t forget that Larisa wanted you to review her short program.”

“I haven’t forgotten. Tell them I’ll be online. Love you, Vitya.”

“Love you too, my Yuuri.” He blew him a kiss and was glad to see Yuuri blush again, then he ended the call.

*** ***

****-**-**-****

As soon as the nurse disconnected the empty bag with the medication, he dashed to the bathroom and vomited bile, his throat hurt like hell, and the foul taste in his mouth seemed his only faithful companion those days. That’s why he always scheduled the video calls in the afternoon, he needed a few hours to recover: he didn’t really want anyone to see him like that. Not when they were unable to do anything about it (especially Viktor, who seemed to feel like everything he couldn’t do was his fault). His mother had seen him once and it had been bad enough.

****-**-**-****

He felt a cool hand on his forehead, adjusting the scarf with the poodles that he had put on that morning. His hair, already short, had started showing bald spots, and when he had complained about that with Phichit, he had been sent a box with several silly scarves. He had never been more grateful for such a weird care-package. He had even cried when he had seen that each one was accompanied by a card and each brought the name of a friend. Sara had sent one with a beautiful Italian landscape, Chris had managed to find one with pole-dancing penguins (it was hilarious), one from Leo de la Iglesia had a big rainbow on it… he had spent several minutes thanking each one of them by message and then he had cried on the phone with Viktor because he had been overwhelmed.

“Hush, мальиш, it’s alright, let it out. This was the last one, детка, you’re done.” Raissa’s soothing words reminded him of Viktor’s endless endearments (Russians seemed to have an infinite reserve of cute words, he would have never imagined), and he missed him with a vengeance in those few days (and still, six weeks and counting to go). The woman held him when he stopped heaving, and he closed his eyes for a moment, remembering his mother’s hugs. He cried a bit, letting out the frustration, the tension he had accumulated. When he had enough, Raissa stood up and dampened a soft sterile gauze. Yuuri felt the warm tissue wipe his cheeks delicately.

“Thank you,” he murmured, “and sorry.”

“It’s fine мальиш, it happens to everyone. You held out more than most people, to tell the truth. Come on, let’s get you back to bed. I have some juice for you, and this evening I’ll even bring some tea for our lessons.”

Yuuri smiled.

“Yeah, thank you. Спасибо.” Raissa smiled and helped him up and back to bed. Yuuri felt _old_. He wasn’t used to feeling this weak and helpless and it grated on him. He really hoped that, as Doctor Gusarova kept saying, in a couple of weeks he would feel better because at the moment he wasn’t so optimist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS! I will mark these sections with a **-**-**-** sign before and after!
> 
> \- Needles. Yura has to inject himself with some medicine in order to prepare for the transplant.   
> \- Needles and Chemo side effects: Yuuri is having more problems with this chemo because it's stronger, there's a pretty graphic description of him vomiting and being helped by a nurse. Not TOO graphic, but, it could still bother people.  
> \- NIGHTMARE: Vitya dreams that Yuuri is dead, and wakes up anxious. 
> 
> Also, there's a fairly UNREALISTIC depiction of how trans-people live in Russia (I've created this fleeting OC that is Mila's sister, who is MTF), I totally know that it's not like that in Russia in this moment, but I kept the original YOI unrealistic attitude. 
> 
> There are a lot of fanfictions that deal with the reality of Russian life for the LGBTQIA+ community in a much more realistic manner and I appreciate their existence a lot.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day has come, and the Russian Skaters in this chapter are dramatic, just so you know...
> 
> Warnings start and end with **--**--**--**

February 14th. Sure, he didn’t usually do anything on Valentine day, but surely being surrounded by doctors and nurses and having to deal with needles for hours wasn’t what he had in mind.

Someone owed him chocolate. Big time.

At least after today he didn’t have to worry about those injections anymore. The side effects weren’t strong, but coupled with a growth spurt that was afflicting him (and that was throwing his balance off), it made it so that his jumps were all over the place, and he _detested_ it.

Yuri supposed that the leukemia was even more detestable (and Katsudon had looked completely worn out the day before in the video call at the rink. His morbid brain suggested that he looked like death warmed over, but he managed to refrain saying such a thing in front of Viktor).

Doctor Gusarova had come and gone, and Yakov had accompanied him to the hospital, but he had gone back to the rink: Worlds was in six weeks and Mila and Georgi had to train (and even Viktor had rink time early that morning, so he could have the rest of the day free). In any case, Yuri wouldn’t have known what to do for four hours in the same room with his coach without skating (or at least that was what he tried to tell himself).

So, he was pacing the room, waiting for the staff to hook him up with the apparently unthreatening machine that was there with him, when someone knocked at the door.

“Come in.” he answered, sitting on the side of the bed towards it. It was a good thing he had sat down too, because he didn’t expect the person that appeared on the threshold.

The dark hair and the undercut were familiar because of two months of skype calls and snapchats, and the dark eyes that were fixed on him, while he was pretty sure he looked like a fish out of the water, were unmistakable. The man pulled a small suitcase in, closed the door and put his hands on his hips, with his usual nonchalance.

“Hello Yura.” He said, placidly.

_Hello Yura? What the fuck?_

“What the fuck, Otabek! What are you doing here? You should be in Taipei for the Four Continents, you idiot!”

“Oh, I see,” The other deadpanned, “that’s the welcome I get for coming here to keep you company, then?” Yuri bit something under his breath at the smirk on Otabek’s face, then forced himself to relax a little and, as his surprise faded, he got up, finding himself truly pleased by this turn of events, and actually hugged the other.

“Fuck, Beka, no, I’m happy to see you, but you’ve got a competition in four days on the other side of the world!”

“That’s why I sent all my skating gear there already. I have a late-night flight tonight.” Yuri heard, through the comforting weight of the arms that were wrapping around him in turn, “and I’ll be in Taipei tomorrow. I’ll sleep the jet-lag away and win gold.” Otabek affirmed.

“You’re awfully sure of yourself, you _better win that gold_ or I won’t forgive you.” No one had ever done something like this for him, and he had problems expressing his gratitude and the warmth he felt. He had to hide his face against Otabek’s shoulder and neither talked while Beka caressed his hair and kept him close with an arm around his torso.

“Are you ready?” The man asked eventually.

“No.” he answered, muffled on the other’s leather jacket.

“Do you want to go away?” Yuri would have taken offence at _anyone else_ asking that to him. Anyone but Beka.

“No. I want to be on the other side, when everything’s done and Katsudon is well and we can forget these hellish months.” He confessed, definitely more sincerely than intended.

Beka pushed him until they could sit down on the bed, keeping an arm over his shoulders, grounding him.

“It’s alright to feel like this. It’s a big moment. That’s why I came.”

“You came here because you’ve lost your mind, it’s evident. I don’t know what you were thinking, going right on the other side of the world.” Yuri insisted, still incredulous, and not wanting to confess how better he felt knowing that someone he trusted, someone he felt at ease with, was with him. He didn’t understand why he felt guilty though, because he had never asked Beka to come.

“Hey, it was my choice. You decided to donate your bone marrow to Katsuki because he’s your friend, and I decided to do a little detour because you’re my friend. Don’t worry about that, ok?” Yuri nodded, and disentangled from under the arm, pacing the floor once more. Otabek took off the jacket (hospitals were always too hot for anyone, figures for skaters) and they waited in silence. Just for a few minutes, when doctor Gusarova came back, followed by a tall blond nurse.

“Hello Yuri, thank you for waiting, we are ready to start.” She said. He nodded, although he really, really wasn’t ready. “Is your friend staying?” she asked, and Yuri nodded again, and Beka’s hand clutched his when he came close and he felt a bit better for it.

*** ***

****--**--**--****

Otabek watched Yura, whose gaze was fixed on the needles that the nurse had delicately put in his arms, getting paler and paler, even more than his already pale complexion. The green eyes – his soldier’s eyes - couldn’t help looking at the blood that flowed in the small tube, went then in the machine that would divide the cells needed for the transplant, and then got back to Yura from the other tube. Otabek knew he was afraid of needles, but he didn’t know it entailed blood too, as roaring and cocky as he was.

****--**--**--****

“Yura…” he called him. Uselessly, and the teen’s breathing was getting faster and faster. No, a panic attack would not help now. “Yura. Yurachka!” Otabek half-yelled, and he was, finally, heard. Yura turned suddenly, and fixed his big and scared eyes on him.

“Don’t look at that, ok? Look at me.” He told him, taking his hand and caressing its back. It wasn’t like he had expected to spend Valentine’s Day, but he wouldn’t have changed it for anything. “Breathe with me, don’t worry, I won’t go anywhere. Don’t look at that… keep looking at me.” Yura tried to look again towards the needle where the blood came out, so he used a hand to turn Yura’s face, caressing his cheek “Turn towards me, Yurachka, leave anything else alone.”

Yura gulped and nodded. The green eyes stayed on his with determination and the boy’s breath slowly got under control again.

Otabek smiled at him, “Good, Yura, you’re so good,” He said. Plisetsky looked at him with contempt at that, and Altin answered with a half laugh.

“I’m not a child or a dog, idiot.” He said, finally talking to him, while he kept looking in his eyes.

“I know, I know, you’re the Ice Tiger.” He saw the green eyes sliding away from his, again, “Look at me, Yura.” He reminded him, a sing-song in his voice, and nodding in satisfaction when they got back. “It won’t be long…”

“Liar. We started fifteen minutes ago, I still have three hours and three quarters to go, dummy.”

“So? Look at me and you’ll be fine.” Otabek answered, smiling. Yura was definitely feeling better, if he had started insulting him again.

“If there’s nothing better to do…” Yura answered, annoyed, but the hands in his held tight on his fingers, and the boy’s gaze softened. Just slightly, but Otabek was an expert in Plisetsky’s micro-expression at this point.

“I’ll do my best to entertain you.” He answered chuckling. He sat more comfortably, and started caressing the back of Yuri’s hands again, then “Did I tell you that time that JJ…”

*** ***

It was Valentine Day, and Viktor wished more than anything to be with Yuuri, but he wouldn’t risk putting his recovery in jeopardy just because he missed him. The previous week had been tough, and six more seemed an eternity, but they _had_ to do this. This transplant was too important. He had messaged Yuuri until his love had told him that he had wanted to rest a while, a few minutes earlier.

Seeing his usually tireless fiancé constantly exhausted had filled Viktor with dread, the unnatural stillness was maybe the part he hated more.

He had taken the habit to wander the hospital, often ending up in the pediatric ward. The first time a couple of the children had recognized him and asked for an autograph. He had ended up spending time in the recreational area, sometimes reading to the little patients, sometimes teaching them simple dance moves, when they were too keyed up from being cooped up inside. They enjoyed it immensely, the parents seemed happy to see their children having fun, the staff was kinder with him since he had started doing it and he felt slightly less useless. At least, he had made someone’s day better, if not his own.

He was picking his way towards the play room, when a door opened few steps ahead of him. He was surprised when he saw Otabek Altin getting out of it, but the true shock was when he turned around to talk to the person that was inside,

“I’ll be back in a minute.” And he heard a very well-known voice answering, a note of petulance in the tone,

“I’ve already told you that _I’m fine_!” Altin moved away, and the visual matched the audio input: it was Yura, inside the room. Semi-reclined on a hospital bed. With tubes coming out from both his arms. “Oh fuck!” he heard, but the blonde’s head was way higher than it had been just a second before. A face topped with dark hair with serious eyes swam in front of him. Firm hands steadied his shoulders and Viktor realized that he was kneeling on the floor.

Maybe skipping lunch hadn’t been the best idea.

He was hauled on his feet by the Kazakh, and marched inside the room, to be then sat on a chair close to the bed where Yura rested, pale. With the tubes. Viktor closed his eyes and inhaled and exhaled slowly three times before opening them again and looking at the teen,

“Are you ill? Is it serious? Why didn’t you say anything, Yurachka?” his voice broke on the last word.

Altin’s voice came from the door.

“I’m going to fetch some tea.”

Viktor saw Yuri nod, and the following sound was the door closing.

He kept on watching the blond teen, hoping against hope that it was nothing serious (but a machine this big, and the blood… it didn’t seem good either). Yura had seemed off the previous week, and he had meant to talk to him, but by then Yuuri had been in the white room to get his chemo for the transplant, and he was worried and…

“VITYA!” Yura’s voice broke into his spiral of panic. He looked at the blonde, whose gaze softened a bit. “Vitya, listen to me. I’m ok. I’m not ill. I won’t die, so stop trying to gauge your eyes out.” Viktor felt a glimpse of hope starting inside, once the teen’s words registered.

“You’re not ill.” He parroted back.

“No, I’m not. I’m as healthy as I can be.”

“You… Yurachka, why in heaven are you here with blood coming out of your veins?” Viktor asked.

“Geez, thanks Viktor, way to help a person afraid of needles.” Yura joked, and Viktor berated himself for his thoughtlessness, he knew very well about Yura’s fear. He had indeed gone paler.

“Sorry, sorry… here, look at me…” he said, and a voice snorted behind him.

“That’s my line.” Altin said, getting back, and pushed a Styrofoam cup filled with tea in his hand. Hospital tea was terrible, but it was actually nice to hold something warm. “Did you tell him?” the man asked to Yura, sitting down on the opposite chair.

“I was trying to, but he decided to go batshit crazy.” Yuri answered him, then turned back to Viktor. “Can you listen to me now?” he asked. Viktor thought about it, but he had never seen Yuri Plisetsky so serious. He nodded, and Yuri moved his fingers. “Give me your hand, I must not move too much.” He said. Viktor obeyed, and found his hold to be strong and unwavering. This, more than the words, reassured Viktor. “Ok. Do you see that machine there?” He flinched, but nodded. “It’s filtering my peripheral bone marrow. The blood comes back to me, the bone marrow goes in the bag.” Viktor listened to Yura’s explanation, waiting for the explanation to continue, feeling like he was missing a very obvious piece of a puzzle. “Oh geez, he’s still stunned.” Yura seemed annoyed. Viktor felt him squeeze his hand again, and turned from the red of the blood to the green of the teen’s eyes. “Viktor… that bag… is for Katsudon.”

It was like a gong had been smashed on his head.

“Yura… You are… the anonymous donor?” he said.

“And I would have _loved_ to remain anonymous just to spare myself this scene! I’ve just literally told you that, old man, try and keep up, please…” Viktor’s cup was abandoned on the small table beside the bed, and the man itself bent on the bed, forehead on the hand that clutched Yura’s one, and let out a strangled sob.

*** ***

Otabek almost felt bad in witnessing Nikiforov’s shocked reaction. He probably knew the man more than he knew Otabek, because of Yura’s continued complaints about him.

Complaints that had actually told Otabek how much that man valued his friends. You don’t do what Yura was doing for Katsuki (and in extension for Nikiforov) if you don’t value them.

It was Yura’s hand that held him there. The moment he had sat down, it had turned palm up, and he had slid his darker one in it. Otabek turned towards his friend and startled when he saw his eyes damp. His thumb gently caressed Yura’s hand and he flashed him a grateful smile.

“Viktor?” Yura asked, his voice a lot less firm than he expected. “Vitya?”

“I should tell you that you’re a fool, that it was unnecessarily dangerous and you are a teenager and you should not have to worry about all this.” Nikiforov was surprisingly lucid after his melt-down. “I should really ask you to stop. But I’m a selfish, despicable man and…”

“You’re not selfish,” Otabek interjected, startling both Russian skaters, “You would have been selfish if, upon discovering that Yura was a match, you had pressured him. _That_ would have made you a despicable human being.” He didn’t mince words. Altins always said things like they were, “But you didn’t. Actually, Yura, Georgi and I were sure that you would have moved mountains so that Yura came to no discomfort, even refusing his help. That’s why we didn’t tell anyone. Yura didn’t want you or Katsuki to know.” He looked at the blonde who nodded.

“You’re not asking me to do this, I’m doing this because I want to. You always say stupid shit like ‘we’re family’ at the rink, and even Yakov seems to believe it, and… if we’re family, this is what _I’_ d do for my family: this is what I am actually doing, because this is what family means to me.” Otabek had never heard Yuri sound firmer, and he felt like he was including him too, in how much the hand in his was gripping hard, and almost trembling. “Families should stick together. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself knowing that I could do something and I didn’t even try. So cut this bullshit, Vitya. The only thing I want to hear from you…”

Otabek was surprised by Viktor’s quickness: he raised from the chair and half embraced Yura without disturbing the needles, dumping a kiss on the crown of his head.

“Thank you, Yuri… thank you.” Yura was startled for a second, before quipping.

“Well, yeah, that too is nice. Now go and harass someone else, old man, spread out your smoochiness somewhere that is not _here_.”

Oh, there it was his Yura. ( _His? Oh boy)_

Viktor actually stayed in the room, but started talking about skating, asking Otabek about his programs, even offering him advice (and sound ones at that), going back to normality so fast that it almost gave him whiplash.

If Viktor’s hand still clutched Yura’s one, and no one commented on it, it was of no consequence.

At least, Yuri wasn’t thinking about the needles, they still had one hour to go after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **--**--**--** trigger: There's a fairly graphic description of a minimal invasive medical procedure (the filtering for the transplant)


	21. Chapter Twenty-one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The transplant... it's time... and it's time to meet some new people ^^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a slightly graphic description of the transplant at the very beginning, and then... it's Four Continents!

That was it.

The so longed-for transplant.

A transfusion, no more complicated or longer or redder than the others.

A whole different mind there, though.

As the thick blood in the bag went into his veins, Yuuri couldn’t help but ask himself who would be so kind to donate his own bone marrow to another person.

The donor had remained anonymous, and Yuuri didn’t know how he felt about it. He could only hope, with every passing second, that it would be enough. That his hope, and Viktor’s, would not be crushed.

His afternoon nurse, a blond man named Mikhail, came to check on him quite often, and between his bits of English and Yuuri’s bits of Russian, they managed something like a small chat. The man, not much older than him, was careful and delicate with his skin, made fragile by the chemo, checking that the port site was in good condition, and didn’t irritate him too much, and Yuuri would have liked to say that he felt better afterwards, but he only felt exhausted.

At the end of the treatment, the anticlimactic resolution of two and more months of stress all piled on him and he could barely send a message saying “All done. Cross your fingers. Love you” to Viktor and his family before falling in an uneasy sleep.

*** ***

Life at the rink is strange with Katsuki’s absence. It would have made more sense had he been training with them longer, it was strange to think that he’d been at Yubileyny for only two months (and ill for most of them).

Yeah, they’d all known him for close to a year, what with Viktor’s half obsession after Sochi and while following their adventures on Viktor’s Instagram after April, but it wasn’t that – per se. It was the way Yura was less bitter since Yuuri and Viktor had come (back, in Vitya’s case), it was in the way Viktor had seemed more alive than in the previous three years, it was in the way Katsuki had really brought them all together as a family.

So, the day after the transplant, seeing the gloomy faces there just wouldn’t do.

Yura was partially excused, as it hadn’t been easy for him and his fear of needles – not to mention the fear that it could all be for nothing and the general stress the hospital caused – but even the children were down.

Mila got out on the ice and whistled loudly, making half of the team jump in surprise.

“What are these long faces? Are we going to just mope uselessly? Katsuki would be so mad to see this mope fest, especially for him! Children! Why don’t we create a little show to tell him “welcome back” in six weeks? I bet he’d love it!” she said, and then smiled smugly as the kids, after a moment of stunned awe, started chattering animatedly. Georgi groaned, surely aware that she’d drag him along bodily, if he didn’t volunteer to help.

“Oh! I know what тренер Yuuri would like!” one of the girls, Ekaterina, said, then she skated to where Viktor was resting, “Mr. Viktor, would you help us make a show for тренер Yuuri?” Mila smirked. There was no way in heaven or hell that Viktor Nikiforov could resist to those blue puppy eyes. The man hesitated a second, then lowered on his haunches and smiled his heart-smile to the girl.

“Sure, Ekaterinka, I’ll help you,” Hook and sinker!

“Yay!” she yelled.

“But…” Viktor started again, gaining the immediate attention of the four children, “You must be super diligent at lessons and listen to Gosha, Mila and coach Yakov, ok?”

“Да! We’ll be good!” they all exclaimed.

Well, maybe they would not run Viktor over, after all.

*** ***

Four Continents without Yuuri, Again. Phichit was not happy at all, especially because this time his friend had more than earned his spot. It was a couple of days after Valentine day and the spirit of the holiday seemed well alive all around, with hearts and roses sold everywhere nearby, and he didn’t really feel like joining in. A hand appeared on his shoulder.

“Come on, Phichit, let’s check in, then you can rest and message Yuuri, ok?” Celestino said, and he nodded along. Phichit knew that his mood was bad, but he was worried. He followed his coach and they split for their own rooms, and once inside he took his phone out of the pocket. He had several notifications, but it was still a bit too early, none of those would be from Yuuri. He tapped on the screen, and smiled when he saw Chris’, Nekola’s and the Crispino’s messages of good luck: Phichit had always been good at making friends, but the whole situation with Yuuri had knit them all close like nothing else ever had.

That was why he wasn’t as surprised as he would have been when, beside Guang Hong’s and Leo’s messages, he saw Otabek’s too. Altin had grown closer to Plisetsky, and Phichit had witnessed in first person how hard the younger Russian skater had taken the whole situation.

He was composing an answering message in his head, and wondering if sending a single group text to all them would work, when a knock on the door distracted him. Puzzled, he opened it just to find an unusually nervous Minami Kenjirou in front of him.

“Oh, Minami, hi.”

“Hello Chulanont-san. May I disturb you?” Phichit’s eyebrows went to greet his hairline at the formality of the usually bubbly skater. He stepped aside and gestured him in.

“Please, come in, and call me Phichit! I’m Chulanont only when Ciao Ciao is pissed with me!” he smiled, inviting the boy to sit down.

“Thanks. I’m sorry to barge in…”

“Minami… Kenjirou, if I can…” the blond nodded, “You don’t need to be so formal. What’s up?”

“It’s… Yuuri-kun… I didn’t want to disturb the Katsuki Family, but he’s as silent as ever on social media, but I saw you were in St. Petersburg during Europeans…” Phichit started laughing.

“ _Oh dear_ ,” he said with a fake ‘50s American accent, “Kenjirou, are you on skating fans’ tumblrs too?” he asked and grinned when the boy first blushed as red as his dyed hair, and then stared at him open mouthed.

“Too? You mean…”

“How else could I keep up if not for some well-placed tumblr blogs?” Phichit was glad that it made Minami relax. “You’re here to ask about Yuuri, huh… ok, whatever I tell you, Kenjirou, must _not_ go on internet, ok? Yuuri has been adamant that no news about his health goes online without his permission, especially this. I know he would tell you, though.” The blond boy nodded.

“Absolutely. You have my word, Phichit-kun.”

“He’s in hospital because he’s had a bone marrow transplant,” the boy looked startled and then smiled.

“So… they found a donor! I imagined something was up when at Euros all the skaters started getting tested and I went too, but I wasn’t compatible.” Phichit smiled at him, “Do you know who the donor is? Are they a skater?”

“We have _no_ idea. They wanted to stay anonymous. We’re just crossing our fingers, the transplant was only a couple of days ago, and he’s having his first official evaluation in ten days or so.” Phichit took his phone out. “Why don’t you message him? He’s bored, terribly so, and we’re all scattered in different time zones.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t, I…”

“Kenjirou… trust me, he’d like it. You know what, let’s send him a selfie! And we can dedicate these skates to him as a get well soon!”

Not even Minami Kenjirou could resist Phichit when he decided to take a selfie. And when Yuuri answered Phichit saying hello to Minami too, and wishing him good luck in representing Japan, the Japanese boy relaxed and joined the chat, and the Thai man couldn’t be happier.

Later, as they joined Leo, Guang Hong, Seung-Gil, Leroy (who was less obnoxious than usual) and Isabella, and even Altin, for dinner, Phichit’s thoughts went to his best friend, isolated in a hospital room, who had managed to unite people in such a solitary and competitive sport even from such a distance.

*** ***

She was known, in the hospital, for being the “mama bear” to all the pediatric and oncologic patients. Raissa was patient, had a big heart and was always able to calm people down. She spent often some of her free time with the bone marrow transplant patients. They were isolated for very good reasons, but it grated greatly on them, and she was glad to be able to help them out. Besides, Yuuri had been her Lyusha’s trainer for the last weeks at Yakov’s ice rink, and she had learnt to know him first from her son’s words, and then at the hospital.

That day, Lyusha was at the rink with his friends, watching the Four Continents something with them, and she had joined Yuuri in doing the same. She could see her son, nonetheless, because there was a direct link, like a public viewing through the phone. It was incredible how many things you could do with a phone, nowadays.

“Ok, is it all set?” she asked the Japanese patient who donned a hamster scarf. He was moving slowly, and that week, the first after the transplant, had been dotted with sleep and transfusions that fought with the restlessness setting in the usually very active man. In Raissa’s experience, that was the worst one, because her charges were often discouraged by that. She had seen the tightness in Yuuri’s eyes when they had connected the rubber tubing for the transfusion to the port that morning, the way he winced when he saw the red bags, and she had reassured him that the worst had passed. She hoped she was right.

“Yeah, I think so. It’s almost one thirty here, so it’s almost half past six in Taipei. The short program is going to start soon.” Then he turned towards the video link. “Lyubim, Ekaterina, Stepan and Larisa, pay attention to what you see, I want to know everything you notice after each skate, ok?” he asked the children. She heard, more than saw, Yura’s snort on his request. “Yurio, I’m not above asking you too, you know that, right?” the sputtering on the other side of the video link made Raissa laugh. Yuuri was always careful to show an optimistic side when he video linked the rink, and she was just glad that he didn’t do the same in his calls with his Viktor, otherwise she would have had to step in: isolation was bad enough on its own, but it was even worse when patients decided that they had to face everything alone. It made their recovery so much more difficult. Raissa was distracted from her train of thoughts when Yuuri touched her hand and nodded to the screen.

“It’s starting.”

The skaters started filing in the ice rink. Six skaters for every group. Yuuri had explained that it was so that they could keep the muscles warm and sometimes they had to resurface the ice with the Zamboni. She could see how his eyes glimmered, looking with longing at that hard, cold surface. The first skater was young, and he came from Canada, and Yuuri nodded approvingly when his first jump went well. She saw him furrowing his eyebrows during the spins that Lyusha always said made him woozy, and Raissa herself winced when the boy, for he couldn’t be much more than fifteen, fell on his third jump.

“Ouch,” she said in sympathy.

“Ouch indeed,” Yuuri answered, “but he stood up and finished his program. That’s good.”

“Do you fall often, Yuuri?” Raissa asked, curious, and the young man laughed.

“Oh gosh, I fall way too often. Not in training, unless it’s a bad day, but jumps make me nervous in competition… anxiety is not the ideal companion. Falling is part of this sport, that’s why we spend so much time teaching children how to fall properly, so that they don’t hurt themselves and they can learn to stand up and keep on.”

Raissa turned her attention to the video link, where voices were raising while the boy on the ice bowed to the public and exited clutching a plushie in his arms. Raissa felt a smile blossoming: the practice of throwing plushies really was the cutest thing ever.

“Now, now guys, one at the time!” she heard Viktor say on the other side, trying to rein the children in while they enthusiastically shouted everything they’d liked and what they thought about the mistakes. When Nikiforov’s eyes caught Yuuri’s image on the screen, Raissa saw how his expression changed, showing longing, warmth and tenderness in a heart shaped smile. Yuuri’s responding blush made her smile and tell something in Russian to the older skater, who spluttered while Yuuri turned to her, having probably caught just a word or two.

“I said that you’re very cute together, and that both of you would be good dads with how you’re handling the children.” She explained, and Yuuri spluttered too, making her laugh.

They watched the other skaters, and when it was the turn of the second to last group, she saw Yuuri sending a message with his phone. On television, a Japanese skater with blond hair and shockingly red fringe was handled a phone by his coach just before he stepped on ice, and the camera caught him blushing and smiling widely. Raissa looked at Yuuri with a raised eyebrow.

“He’s Minami Kenjirou, he’s a friend.” He explained, and then they watched the bubbly kid skating with energy and lightness. Yuuri exulted when he nailed a jump, and she saw a small number appear next to his name when the score was revealed.

She didn’t think she would remember every skating term she’d heard that day. At the end of the competition, when the dark-haired boy from Thailand got first place (and both Yuuri and the video linked group shouted in glee), the man’s energy was flagging. Before she could say something, though, Viktor’s face appeared on the screen.

“Yuuri, дорогои, why don’t you take a nap? I’m going to round up the kids and bring them on the ice.” Yuuri nodded and he waved to the children. Raissa saw the tight expression on the blond boy, and she remembered where else she had seen him, and had to keep a gasp in. Luckily, Yuuri had been too distracted to notice it, and when the videos closed, she had recovered enough to just help her patient back on the bed for a well-deserved nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> дорогои = Darling


	22. Chapter Twenty-two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes waiting is annoying... Also... news incoming!

**YURIO**

*photo of Makkachin looking up, tongue lolling on the side*

I can’t even eat a sandwich in peace…

Yuuri laughed out loud when he saw their girl’s goofy face, and then felt an ache inside at how much he missed her. Apparently, Yuri was spending even more time at their place than usual, and that resulted in a series of funny photos of Makkachin and Viktor. He suspected that it was the teen’s way to cheer him up.

Linked by Skype, Yurio, Viktor, Georgi, Mila and him had watched the free skate at Four Continents that morning (very early), and afterwards he had taken a nap. Another transfusion, which he was starting to hate, and then he had stubbornly put in some stretching exercise, just for Mikhail to berate him to rest, because he was still in the first week and that meant that Yuuri should, apparently, just accept losing all his hard-won conditioning. When Yuuri told him that, Mikhail glared at him and started muttering about hard-headed people, and then adding some Russian expletives under his breath that resembled a lot those of a blond skater. He would have to ask the nurse for the exact meanings, some day: at least he’d know some of Yurio’s favorite words.

**YUURI**

My cute baby girl, she just wants some treats!

**YURIO**

EW, you’re as disgusting as the old man

when you talk about her

Like you’re much different about Potya!

She’s a cat, she’s different. Cats Rule!

You wish that, Yurio, look at how smart Makka is!

You’re delusional!

May be, but still, dogs are the best!

Give some love to Potya from me too?

You’re just afraid she’s gonna claw your eyes

out

You got me.

Yeah, Katsudon, I got you.

*photo of Viktor and Makkachin sleep-cuddling on the sofa*

I know. Thank you.

Yuuri traced his finger on Viktor’s face, over his closed eyes with the pale lashes reflecting the early afternoon sunlight streaming from the window, an unusual sight for such a hyper person, scanning his expression: relaxed but for the slight furrow on his forehead, his hand in Makkachin’s fur. He ached for that sofa, for that soft fur, he ached for the warmth of the apartment that had so quickly become home. He wanted to smooth that forehead, and to tease Yurio in person, and not by phone.

It all sucked, and still, he had to wait.

*** ***

Mari had never seen her brother so active on Instagram and Twitter. He didn’t post anything, but he had basically commented every skate from the Four Continents (always finding something nice to say) and she knew that it was a sure sign that he was _bored out of his mind_.

That evening, she begged off earlier from the service and opened Skype, clicking on the green dot next to Yuuri’s handle. He answered after a couple of rings.

“Mari-neechan, is everything alright?” he asked without pause when she appeared on the screen.

“Slow down, Yuuri-kun! Yes, everything is alright here, mom and dad are dealing with the last customers. I just wanted to chat a bit with you, can’t I? Or are you too busy?” she joked, and then launched herself in a retelling of the last prank put up by Loop, Axel and Lutz, and then the latest gossip from Minako.

“I think Minako got drunk on purpose that night just to beg off babysitting the girls.” She snickered and she was glad to hear Yuuri giggle on the other side of the screen.

“I can believe that. I don’t know how Vitya did it when Yuuko managed to leave them to us. I’d be useless.”

“Don’t be silly, they adore you. And Viktor and you hold their attention by teaching them skating. By the way, how are your students?”

“My what?” Yuuri asked.

“Yuuriiii, the kids you train at the rink!”

“Oh, Yakov’s novices…” Mari rolled her eyes, “they’re fine, we skype three times a week and they show me what they’re doing. Mila, Georgi and Viktor help them and sometimes even Yurio. Do you know that one of my nurses is Lyubim’s mom? She brought me their cards too.”

“Oooh, I wanna see them!” she asked. Her brother was just unbelievable, that he still thought that those weren’t _his_ students, even after them skyping three times a week to basically give him a progress report and being mostly left as their main teacher. He truly was hopeless. Yuuri briefly disappeared from the screen and then reappeared with a handful of cards, showing them in chronological order and taking care to tell her who did what drawing. She smiled and laughed at Viktor’s larger than usual forehead, and cooed at the drawing of Makkachin. “By the way, cool scarf, bro.” she said, finally identifying the blobs as pole dancing penguins. He laughed.

“Chris Giacometti sent this. After a call with Phichit, I received this care package with the most ridiculous scarves inside, together with messages from my… I imagine that calling them friends wouldn’t be out of sorts… and they made me laugh a lot…” his eyes darkened, the expression falling as his voice weakened a little, “Last week was tough, Mari…”

“I know, little bro… you’re amazing, you know this, right? And I’m happy you finally see how many wonderful friends you have around. Sometimes when you were in Detroit, the only way we could have news from you was through Phichit’s Instagram.” She said.

“I know. I’m sorry. I get stuck in my head and it’s difficult to get out. Here I have Viktor and Yurio and even Mila and Georgi getting me out of my funk. One time, Madame Lilia ran into me in the studio and decided that I needed an impromptu lesson… my feet ached for a week after that. And well, what good does to me getting stuck in the what ifs that can only be better of what I’m living now?” he asked. Mari rolled her eyes again. Harder.

“Oh dear, he learns that not everything is bad _now_ of all times! You’re terrible, Yuuri!” she said, smiling at him. He smiled back, and then yawned. “Get a nap, you need to rest.”

“It seems that all I’m doing is getting bored and rest, getting bored and rest…” he whined.

“Yeah, well, that’s your job for now. We’ll try our best to entertain you, oh you big baby. Oh, before I forget, the girls are mobbing mom to get a Skype call with you. Do you think you’d be up for it one of these evenings?”

“I… I don’t know, I might. I have no idea why would they want to, but ok…” Mari almost scoffed out loud at that, despairing for her little brother’s sense of self-worth, which in itself was almost reassuringly normal. “Maybe in a couple of days? Hopefully I’ll resemble less a zombie and more an actual human being.” Yuuri continued.

“Ok, I’ll tell Yuuko, she wanted to talk with you too.” Another massive yawn from Yuuri made her laugh, “Wow, classy bro. Go and rest now.”

“Yeah, I might. Maybe… are Okaasan and Otousan done for the evening? I’d like to see them…” Mari smiled sweetly.

“Sure buddy, I’m calling them up, if they’re not finished, I’ll round up the onsen. Hold tight, I’m sending them to you. Rest well, Yuuri-kun.”

“Thank you, Mari-Nee… good night.”

Mari reluctantly left the room and went in search of her parents. Once she had made sure that they could see and hear Yuuri, she got down in the restaurant and bussed the two tables left, closed the doors, and put the money in the safe.

Then she went to the small temple inside the house and put an offering of incense to burn, and she asked Vicchan to look over Yuuri, and that her brother could heal and find his way back to them all.

*** ***

Nine days since the transplant, sixteen since Yuuri had entered the white room, and at least thirty-three to go yet. Viktor crossed another day from his calendar at home, and sighed. Makkachin nosed her way into his ache for Yuuri, forcing him to go out, and then to go on with his free day. Worlds was a month away and Yakov had reminded him that the free day was mandatory. He hadn’t needed the ice that bad since before that fateful banquet in Sochi. He felt so lost without Yuuri with him, and it had been only sixteen days after ten months or so of basically living in each other’s pockets. How had he lived the rest of his life? Sometimes, he felt like he had only been waiting for Yuuri to drunk-dance his way into his arms and breathe life into him. Ah, if Yuuri could hear him, he’d surely say that he was being dramatic. Probably he was. But sue him, that was how he felt.

He headed to the hospital. Even if he couldn’t see his Yuuri, he couldn’t stay away, not even for just one day, and, like the day he had discovered Yurachka donating his bone marrow (and he had promised not to tell Yuuri, and it already grated on him but… he owed it to the boy, at least), he headed to the pediatric ward. As soon as he entered the playroom, a nurse waved him over.

“Viktor, good morning, you’re early.” Pavel said, greeting him.

“Good morning, Pavel. Yeah, free day today, otherwise Yakov will just throw me out.” The nurse gave a laugh.

“Well, it’s good. Listen, I stopped you because I know how taken you are with the kids, and in a couple of days we’re sending young Dima home… his last analysis was very good and he appears to be in remission.” Viktor smiled widely at that.

“Oh, really? I’m so glad! He’s such a sweet boy! Do you usually do something?”

“A small party for the children. We need to celebrate the good days. Do you think you can come?”

“I’ll arrange so that I can, don’t worry.”

“Great. Now, I believe your little fans are waiting for you…” the nurse said, nodding in the direction of the children that had gathered upon hearing him talk.

“Oooh, look who’s here! Hi guys!” He started, and then lost himself in making someone else’s life better, and forgetting his loneliness for a couple of hours.

And really, he wasn’t as lonely anymore, now that he had learnt to see the people that loved him.

When the games stopped and he could take a breather while the children had a light snack, he felt his mobile’s notification for Yuuri ring. Taking out his phone, he smiled when he saw the preview of the photos one of the girls had taken of him and various children.

**ЗОЛОТЦЕ**

I hate everything. Why did I decide to

watch “Eight Below”??

**VIKTOR**

Awww, darling, seriously? I thought I had

warned you?

You did. I decided not to listen.

My dearest… at least it’s better than the original

“Antarctica”…

DON’T watch that, please?

I WON’T. Now I need cheering up, though ((

Viktor knew just the thing. He scrolled in his gallery until he found the photo of Dima on his shoulders laughing out loud with the cat scarf on his head, while he was prancing around the room.

Here then. This is Dimitri, Dima for short.

He’s going home in a few days, he’s all better now.

Awww, Vitya! That’s so precious!

Are you still coming to the hospital every day?

I cannot be with you but it’s worse at home (((.

At least here I can cheer the kids.

That’s more or less the only reason

I’m not sicking Yurio on you.

No skating today?

Yakov sent me home yesterday telling me not

to show my face at the rink today.

You’re going to make him completely bald

at this rate.

Nope, that’s Yurio’s job :P

Poor Yakov!

You should be on my side!!

I am… you need a good coach, it’s no use sending

him in early retirement!

He’s tougher than that! Anyway, the kids at the rink

made more cards, I believe Raissa has them.

Ooooh, cards! They’re spoiling me!

You deserve to be spoiled, Золотце!

What are you doing later? Can we Skype a bit?

Messages are good but I want to see your

face.

<3 <3 <3 <3 yes, my love, I’ll go home now, the

children here are tired. Makkachin misses you!

Yesterday I found her sleeping on the laundry bag

from the hospital, she’s seeking your smell!

Awww, poor baby girl! I miss her too!

Go home, now, love, let me see you.

Yes! See you later, моя звезда!

*** ***

Yuri cringed when Yakov yelled at Viktor again, who was so distracted that he kept skating the wrong program instead of his short. Yuri had seen him slip into the step sequence for Agape, then the entrance of the triple axel from Yuri on Ice, and then even some spins from Eros. He was all over the place and Yakov’s vein on his temple kept pulsing.

“Viktor, if you have to be like this, then why are you here? Go home!” the older man yelled, when the man got to the wall of the rink. Yuri startled a bit when the coach out both hands on Viktor’s shoulders, “Vitya, you’re too distracted, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Go home, and let us know when Katsuki calls, ok? Whatever he says, at any hour, call.” Viktor had his head low and raised it suddenly when he heard Yakov’s softer tone, then nodded.

“Yes… sorry Yakov. Спасибо.”

“Yura!” Yakov yelled again, and Yuri jumped on his feet, not expecting the hard tone again, “Go with this idiot and make sure he rests, for goodness’ sake.” He said, and Yuri knew that he’d been too distracted, too.

“BAAAH, why do I have to babysit the old man??” he complained, while getting his things and gathering Viktor’s too, who was watching their exchange strangely amused.

“Because you’re here annoying me for some unclear reason, seen it’s your birthday and you have the day off, and Mila and Georgi have actual work to do!” Yuri scoffed at the gruff answer, but finished packing up. Viktor reached the benches and took off his skates, while Yuri waited for him with both their bags.

“This is stupid! Me, on babysit duty, on my birthday even! BAH!” he yelled again, “You better make me dinner, old man!” he exclaimed, and Viktor smiled softly at him.

Yuri _really hated leukemia._

“Sure, growing children need food! You’re so big now that you’re eight!” Viktor said, smiling his infuriating smile, and Yuri threw his hands to the sky, stomping out of the rink with the man in his wake.

They went to Viktor’s house by foot, walking in silence, glancing, one minute and the other, to their phones for any notification. When they got there, Makkachin welcomed her owner and Yuri home by jumping up and wagging her tail, and then looked behind them and stopped wagging, whining pitifully.

“I’m sorry baby girl,” Viktor stared, “Our Yuuri is still at the hospital… I know you miss him, darling… I miss him too…” Yuri heard Viktor’s voice break and felt a knot in his throat.

“Come on, old man, let’s call Katsudon so he can yell at you for being distracted at practice.” He said, trying to force some of his usual brashness in his voice and failing spectacularly. Viktor didn’t comment on it, smiling at him, if somewhat sad. It was so annoying. It was the _worst birthday ever_.

Viktor booted up the computer and quickly opened Skype, and Yuri wasn’t surprised that Katsudon was listed as active and available: a thing that Yuri knew was that the man was _bored as hell_ in that room. That was basically the reason why he sent so many photos. Not because he missed him. _Not at all_.

The Skype call rang longer than they were used to, and Yuri cocked his eyebrow, surprised. He didn’t dare looking at Viktor, but it was evident that he was nervous. He tapped on the table and had almost tapped on “re-call”, when Yuuri called back. Viktor startled before hitting the camera icon. Katsudon’s face appeared on the screen, slightly breathless.

“Hi!” he was smiling tightly, “sorry, doctor Gusarova arrived while you started to call and I couldn’t answer on time.”

“Hi darling…” he said.

“Oh, come on you two, stop that!” Yuri complained, and appeared on the screen squishing against Viktor. “Why is the doctor there?” he asked.

“Oh Yurio! Happy birthday!” he said, as he heard his voice. Yuri tried to hide his pleased smile, and was saved from saying anything by Katsudon adding, “She has my results…” They heard the doctor’s voice asking if Yuuri wanted her to tell him the results after the call, and Yuri saw the Japanese man shake his head. “I’d tell them, this will save me time.”

The view on the laptop changed when someone picked the computer up and now Doctor Gusarova was on the screen too. Her eyes widened slightly seeing him, and Yuri put quickly a finger on his lips while Yuuri was busy looking at something behind the computer, and the doctor nodded. Yuri sagged in relief, managing to get his composure back just in time for Katsudon to turn back to the screen.

“Are you sure, my Yuuri?” Viktor asked, and Yuri rolled his eyes.

“Yes. Yes, please Doctor Gusarova.”

“Well, it seems that it’s a party, so I won’t beat it around the bush,” she started, “the tests came back and we repeated them twice just to be sure. In the next two weeks, you’ll get one transfusion less than we planned: the bone marrow seems to be already working better than we hoped and definitely better than the average.” The doctor smiled at Katsudon and then at the screen, and Yuri just about kept himself from shouting, “Clearly, the definitive results will be those in two weeks, but it’s already a very good sign.” The doctor talked more, but Yuri didn’t really get everything, too busy beaming. Viktor, on his side, had caught his hand in his and he was holding it hard and when Yuri turned to look at him, he could see the tears and the elated expression on his face. In a moment when Yuuri was completely turned towards the doctor, the old man turned to mouth “Спасибо” to him, and Yuri answered by squeezing his hand back.

He couldn’t wait to tell Beka, it was a damn good birthday gift!

*** ***

The end of February was the first deadline they had been waiting holding their breath, trying to avoid even talking about it in the conversations with Yuuri, or anyone else, and it hanged like a Damocle’s sword on their heads nonetheless. The whole family had tried to keep busy and not to bring it up in their skype calls with Yuuri, but as a father, Toshiya couldn’t help, at the same time, being afraid and longing for that moment. He was the one in the family part of the building when the phone rang that evening, Mari and Hiroko still in the restaurant.

“Moshi moshi,” he answered.

“Hi Otousan.” Yuuri’s voice greeted him on the other side of the phone.

“Yuuri, hi! Is everything alright?” he asked, immediately, because they had talked the previous day and he should have called Yuuko that day, instead.

“Yes… actually, yes. Dad, I got the first results,” he started. And Toshiya held his breath, waiting for Yuuri to continue, “they say it’s better than they expected… it’s working, dad…the bone marrow is working, they’re going to decrease my transfusions too…”

Toshiya didn’t know how he managed to keep from crying in relief while he called his wife and daughter and passed them the telephone to talk with Yuuri, but when Mari, his strong, steadfast Mari, came to him, hugging him with her eyes wet, he dropped his head on hers and let the tears run free, while Hiroko’s happy voice talked with their child.

When Yuuri closed the call, and Mari had gone to the Ice Castle to tell Yuuko, while Hiroko called Minako to let her know, Toshiya sat at one of the tables, a cup of tea in one hand and a photo of a baby Yuuri skating and smiling happily in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NepturnalHarianne (My Beta): So… basically, Yuuri gets over his anxiety because… almost dying is worse that a few falls?  
> Me: Yeah, basically... well, it's not the coping mechanism I'd suggest to most people but... in this case...


	23. Chapter Twenty-three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for this long wait!! Life got hectic for my Beta and me and this resulted in a series of being later and later!
> 
> I'm going to post chapter 23 today and chapter 24 during the week end!!
> 
> Sorry for making you wait!!!

_*** ---***_

_Yuuri opened his eyes to a strange sound. The door of his room opened, and the slam of it on the wall reverberated down the hollow corridor. He got up, his skin prickling with nerves. He should have stayed inside for at least four more weeks (hoping that that day’s exam went well), that door should have opened only to make the nurses and doctor pass. He went to the light switch and tried it. It clicked fruitlessly, the lights dead and unresponsive. He peeked in the corridor, but that too was completely empty, and the timid “Hello?” he said, went out in the void, echoing. He didn’t remember it doing that when he had come in, four weeks earlier. “Hello? Raissa? Mikhail?” he tried calling his nurses. “Doctor Gusarova?” his voice pitched high, a note of panic that he wanted to ignore._

_He went back into the room to get his phone, he would call Vitya, he could fix this, but that thing was nowhere to be found. He looked for his laptop, then, but that too had disappeared. Alarmed, he turned around and saw that the window that usually regaled him with a view of the inner park of the hospital had vanished as well. Frantic, his breathing increased, he knew that he was spiraling, he needed help. He made to go to the door, to get out, but… the door wasn’t there anymore. He turned around and the room seemed to warp out of focus in a nauseating mist, its walls had disappeared, a non-descript grey in their place and that made his throat constrict even more, breathing was becoming impossible and his heart beating frantic and loud in his ears was dominating and impossible to ignore. Unable to stop it, he tried to count the objects in the room, the sounds he could hear but the bed had disappeared and only the desperate sound of his own breathing filled his ears. Yuuri crouched on the ground, covering his head._

_“Viktor, Viktor please, please, Vitya… please…” he tried to fill his ears with his own voice but suddenly it went away as well. He raised his head, and around him, there was_ nothing _,_ nothing _at all, and the nothingness hurt his eyes, like the lack of sound hurt his ears and then… then the_ floor _disappeared and he fell…_

_He fell down, down, until, with a spasm, he landed…_

… on his bed. The light of the setting sun getting inside through the window, the poodle plushie Viktor had put in his luggage when he had left clutched in his hands, the television on the wall, the door at its place and his phone on the nightstand. He breathed once, twice, just to assure himself that, yes, he was still breathing, and then scrambled for it, unblocking it with trembling fingers, almost getting the pin wrong with how they were shaking, and went to his facetime contacts and pressed on the video call for Vitya.

*** --- ***

The phone seemed to ring for an eternity when the call went through and Viktor appeared on screen. He was at the rink and his hair was messy, held back and around as it usually was when he trained jumps, and he was just a bit out of breath for it. He was smiling at Yuuri, but the smile fell before he asked,

“Yuuri, love? Are you ok? It’s like you’ve seen a ghost. Darling, is everything alright?” Yuuri couldn’t stop a sob, and he rapidly covered his mouth to stop more. Not that it helped in any way, Viktor’s eyes widened a bit, betraying his usual panic at his tears, besides his worrying, “Oh no, no, don’t cry, золотце…” and Yuuri could see him searching around frantically. That made him snort through his tears.

“I… sorry, Vitya… I was asleep and had a nightmare and… I had…” he started.

“Oh, darling,” Viktor cooed, “do you want to tell me? If you want, we can have some privacy, Yakov will lend me his office…” Yuuri shook his head.

“It was… strange, I was alone, and everything was disappearing around me, and then I fell… it’s not something specific, it’s… the sensations I felt. I felt disconnected, maybe it’s the isolation that is messing with me… I don’t want to distract you from practice, though… Maybe, you could prop the phone up? I want to see you skate, I want to… I need to see that the world hasn’t disappeared.” He said, and he didn’t even care that his voice broke.

“Of course, моя звезда, it’s not a problem.” Viktor took off again on the ice, and Yuuri smiled when he realized that his silly fiancé was keeping the phone out so he could see his face, winking at him while his hair was swept by the wind. He stopped in front of someone on another side of the rink, and Yuuri’s sight swam while the phone changed hands. Georgi’s smiling face greeted him.

“Hi, Yuuri!”

“Hi, Georgi.” He answered, smiling in kind.

“I’ll let you see your Vitya, he’s already sending daggers to me… he’ll end up throwing his skates at me.” He joked while adjusting the view so that Yuuri could see the ice.

“I hope not, he needs to work with them!” he commented. He still felt shaken, and the last tendrils of the nightmare clutched at him, but seeing his Viktor, even the rink and the others, was helping.

Then, Viktor started. It was Stammi Vicino, because he was still training for Worlds, and he had kept the previous year’s programs, and Yuuri _ached_. He knew that that song was a call, for Viktor, in a moment of complete solitude. Yuuri had answered that call, and he could feel every movement, every jump (the quad Lutz was especially gorgeous today, with that deep outside edge and the quick toepick assist spiraling him in the air for four whole rounds, no pre-rotation whatsoever), and he saw as Viktor’s interpretation was so different from the previous year’s one: he was no longer calling for someone abstract, for an idea of a person (at Worlds the previous year, it had been an idea of Yuuri, but not the _true_ Yuuri), now he was skating for _him_. He saw the changes in the choreography, the places where Viktor had taken a movement or a position from Yuuri. The Ina Bauer in the first half was deeper and he had changed the position to a layback one, and when he lunged forward, every movement made to reach towards the imaginary lover was now at Yuuri’s height, as if Yuuri were himself in front of him. Viktor ended with his arms around himself, held high, looking up, and then skated directly back towards where Georgi had put the phone.

“Well? How was it?” he asked, cheeks rosy from the exertion, his nose pinkish as it tended to stay even out of the ice.

“Gorgeous… you’re gorgeous, Vitya…” Yuuri said, sincerely. “I miss you, love…” he admitted. Viktor’s face fell for a second.

“I know, I miss you too, Дорогои… three more weeks, Да? Then you’ll be out again. I’ll be there to pick you at the hospital as soon as I come home from Worlds. You’ll watch us, right?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Yuuri said, smiling, in the end. Vitya’s responding beaming heart-smile made him blush.

Three more weeks, the midmark had passed, his first checkpoint had gone well enough, and only one week for the second one, the most important.

He could do it.

“Are you ok, now, darling? Do you want to watch some more training?”

“I’m better but… please?” he confessed, putting his phone where he could see it well enough while he stretched. “I’ll get some stretching in too, at least I won’t waste the day away for a stupid nightmare.” He said.

“You’re not wasting anything, and nothing that worries you is stupid, love, but do what makes you feel better.” Then the view on the phone rattled and he heard a soft thud coming through the speakers, the phone on the stand that Yuuri knew had been prepared for him, and Viktor went back at the center of the ice, getting a run-through of his short program.

And while he watched, Mila stopped by to chat with him, and then it was Yurio who interrupted his view of Viktor making increasingly more ridiculous spins (mocking Viktor’s) to make him laugh and then to get his input on a step sequence, and even the children all went to say hello to him in the loudest way possible.

No, there was no emptiness in his life, and he really couldn’t wait to be outside again.

*** ***

Why, after six years of motherhood, did she still underestimate the amount of energy her three beloved crazy daughters had? They had spent the day on the ice with their lessons, and then Yuuko had told them that Uncle Yuuri would call that night and that they could talk together and they had gone _nuts._ Takeshi was of no use whatsoever because he was laughing and rousing them up. She should go to Yu-topia and leave him with his own spawn, that’s what she should do.

Instead, she was trying to shush the girls _and_ to make the connection work. In the end, Skype connected, and she was able to start the video call on the computer, Axel, Lutz and Loop piling up on her, now, in complete silence.

At least until Yuuri-kun answered and those three bellowed together:

“HI UNCLE YUURIIIII!!” Yuuri chuckled and she barely heard his voice over the racket her daughters were making.

“Hello Axel, Loop and Lutz! It’s lovely to see you!”

“Uncle Yuuri, is it true that you’ve become a coach??” Loop asked. Yuuko facepalmed.

“We’ve seen Mila’s videos with you teaching the kids!” added Lutz.

“I’m just helping them with small things,” he answered and Yuuko wanted to groan at his cluelessness.

“We want you to teach us too!” exclaimed Axel, and Yuuko _actually_ groaned this time.

“ _I want never gets_ , girls! I taught you better!” she said, chastising them. The girls looked at her, and then looked at the screen.

“Pl-eeeeaaaaseee Uncle Yuuri, teach us too!!” They whined, in unison.

Yuuri giggled on the other side of the Skype connection.

“Okay, okay, when I come back to…”

“Nooo, Uncle Yuuri, we’ll send you our videos, like those kids do!” Loop said, “Pretty please? Pretty please with Makkachin on top?”

Yuuko groaned. _How were they born from her?_ No, no one was allowed to remind her _how_ it was pretty much ingrained in her mind and in Takeshi’s sprained wrist.

“ _Hai, hai_ , ok girls, _if you behave…_ ” and Yuuko smirked at seeing them straightening up and sitting all composed, “ _If you behave,_ and you are good and listen to your mama and papa, I’ll help you too, ok? But mama Yuuko must tell me that you’re behaving well!” he said.

“Yes, yes, yes, Uncle Yuuri, we’ll be the bestest girls ever, you’ll see!” they said at the same time, and she shook her heads with a small smile, wondering just how long that promise would really last.

“Ok, ok girls. Now, I need to talk a bit with your mama, ok?”

“Ok Uncle Yuuri! Thank you, Uncle Yuuri! Oyasumi nasai Uncle Yuuri!”

“Oyasumi, and _behave!_ ”.

The girls went away and Yuuko let out the laughter she’d been holding in for the last five minutes.

“Yuuri! where did you learn that? You’d make a wonderful babysitter!” she said, with a smirk.

“You’ll never believe me… from Vitya _and_ Coach Feltsman, he uses it with Viktor too!” he shared, laughing with her.

“Oh my, that’s some way to bring a childhood hero down from the pedestal!” Yuuko commented and smiled at her best friend.

“You know, I quite like to have him down from that pedestal, he’s much easier to kiss.”

“Awww, Yuuri, that was so romantic, I’m going to message him that you said this.” Yuuri looked alarmed.

“Oh no, no, don’t, please.”

“Come on, Yuuri-kun, you know Viktor will be happy as a clam, he’s so head over heels for you.” Yuuko said, and she grinned when she saw Yuuri blush.

“Between you and Phichit I don’t know why he hasn’t run away yet.” He murmured, smiling softly.

“Because he’s a dork, just like you, and we have a well of embarrassing stories to tell.” Yuuko giggled. “You look nice, by the way, new pajama?” she asked, cheekily, looking at his Hamtaro themed shirt.

“Oh gosh, this is all Phichit’s fault too, I swear!” Yuuri exclaimed, blushing.

“Still, you wore it. I’m sure it’s not the only thing Viktor has sent.” She added, enjoying quite a lot Yuuri’s silence when he could not contradict her.

“Yeah, yeah,” he ended up saying, “I actually like this, I know.”

Then Yuuri asked how things were in Hasetsu, and Yuuko launched herself in telling him about the new students at the rink, about asking Minako to get a couple of hours a week for them, because they all asked to skate “as pretty as Katsuki-senshu!!”. Yuuri blushed furiously.

“I can’t understand why you still blush, Yuuri-kun, you should already know that kids adore you! Look at Minami, too!” Yuuko said, laughing at Yuuri’s embarrassment.

“It’s… it’s that I don’t think I’m that special.”

“Oh, cut it out, Katsuki,” Takeshi’s voice came from the other room, “If there’s someone who has always told you that that is bullshit, it’s Yuuko, listen to her for once.” He grumbled, passing through the room with a cup of tea in hand, while it was Yuuko’s turn to blush and Yuuri’s to laugh.

When Yuuko closed the call, at last, she smiled to herself: Yuuri had been tired towards the end, but he was definitely better, and in a better mood. _Look out, world, Katsuki Yuuri is coming!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that there is a CW for a panic attack and a nightmare at the very beginning...
> 
> I'm going to put *** --- *** where it all begins and ends!


	24. Chapter Twenty-four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh... News for Yuuri... well, secrets don't stay secret forever...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE, this is the second posting this week, to make up a bit for the waiting, so make sure you have read the chapter 23!!!
> 
> Also note, Yura swears quite a lot in this...

The Skype tone was expected, it was dinnertime and Vitya always called few minutes before his dinner arrived. Yurio’s presence wasn’t new either, the boy spent an awful lot of time at their apartment and Yuuri had gotten used to seeing him there. The spare room already held several of Yurio’s possessions even _before_ he got into the hospital.

They were laughing at Yurio’s rendition of Yakov’s latest rant about the fact that they didn’t appreciate him enough, especially “ _Yura, you would have been sacked by any other coach!!”_ , when a knock came to the door of his room and Mikhail, the nurse, peeked in.

“время обеда!” Yuuri smiled.

“Oh, привет Mikhail! Спасибо! Where is Raissa? She’s usually bringing me dinner!” he asked

“You’re welcome, Yuuri! She changed a shift with me so I could have tomorrow free: it’s my mom’s birthday! Is that Viktor? Привет, Viktor!”

“Hello Mikhail,” he answered kindly, and then Yurio appeared on the screen. Yuuri opened his mouth to introduce them, when,

“Oh, _Ice tiger! How are you! Congratulations, your blood was very effective! Yuuri is getting better!”_ he exclaimed in Russian.

Yuuri’s grasp of the language had got so much better in that month, and he had learnt some of the hospital-related words (inevitable, when you’re learning it from nurses). So, he recognized the word for _blood_ and the one for _effective_ besides his own name. Something clicked, and suddenly he felt cold. He turned towards the screen in time to see Yurio sputtering something in Russian he completely lost the meaning of, red as a tomato, and then the teen excused himself hastily. Mikhail left his dinner and bid them goodbye and Yuuri didn’t even know if he had answered or not. He gazed at a pale Viktor looking worriedly at him through the screen.

“Yuuri? Love...?” the man tried; his voice tentative. Yuuri gulped a couple of times, his throat suddenly dry, and choked. He hadn’t really thought that the donor could be one of the people next to him, he would have known otherwise… or so he had thought.

“Was… is… is Yurio my donor?” he asked, his voice barely audible. Viktor looked at him helplessly.

He had had the second test the day before, and it had gone so well, they had started making plans for him to go back home just after Worlds. He had been overjoyed, and he had been somewhat sad that he couldn’t thank his donor properly.

And now…

“Viktor… is our Yurio the donor?” he asked, his voice firmer and rigid, it felt so strange in his throat. Viktor opened his mouth once, twice… and then,

“Yes… yes, darling, he is.” Yuuri’s disbelief, bordering on anger, reached quickly the boiling point and he was about to say something he might have had cause to regret to Viktor, for lack of a better target, but before he could talk, the man continued, “I didn’t know that, though! I didn’t know that he had been found compatible, I have _no idea_ of how he convinced the hospital to let him donate since he’s underage. I discovered it accidentally on the day of the transplant, because, by pure chance, I happened to walk in front of the room where he was during the procedure and I saw him.” He added frantically. Yuuri’s anger subsided. The strange, feeling of confusion remained.

“I… I would have never asked him to… why didn’t you tell me?”

“Neither would I, золотце… He was well into the procedure when I found him… and I didn’t tell you because he made me promise not to. I was trying to convince him to tell you once you were back, at least.” Viktor answered, his posture slouching as he sat down heavily on the chair in front of the computer in that way of his he had to show displeasure. Yuuri knew that Vitya hated having secrets.

“Was… was it invasive?”

Viktor snorted, “not much,” he answered, “but he had to have some injections and on the day of the procedure he had his blood filtered for like three hours, I believe?”

“But he’s afraid of needles!” Yuuri exclaimed.

Another voice came from the computer, its owner not yet on screen.

“Yes, I am. But the alternative was worse…” it was Yurio, who was coming back from the other room.

“Oh, Yurio, it would have been fine… we would have found another way…” Yuuri started.

“You don’t know that!” the teen cried out, “and I for sure didn’t know that. And I didn’t want to take the risk!” Yuuri heard his feet stomping until Yurio’s face was next to Viktor’s on the screen, his expression was one of pure determination.

“But… you could have talked with us!” Yuuri protested.

“No, I couldn’t, you would have said the same things and maybe would have made it so that I couldn’t do it because you’re idiots, both of you. No, I had to do this, I _wanted_ to do this, and I was right! You’re healing, you’re coming back after Worlds, and all this bullshit about cancer will be done and we’ll be back to yelling to each other as it’s normal!” Yuuri felt his eyes widen as the teen’s tirade got on, his voice getting progressively rougher and his eyes glinting with moisture as he stopped speaking and started breathing a little bit too fast. He ached to pull him in his arms and was so grateful when Viktor did it in his stead. He took one of his pillows because he needed something to hug, and a pillow was all he had. Yurio kept rigid for a moment and then turned into Viktor’s chest. “You two always say that we’re family…” he continued, his head low, the voice so muffled against Vitya’s shirt that Yuuri barely heard him, “and I believe it, not only when you are the ones helping me, it goes both ways, you have to let me help you. This is what I’d do for my family, and I did it.”

Yuuri was helpless to stop the tears from falling down, and for a few minutes, all he could hear was a sniffling sound on the other side.

“Oh, Yurio…”

“And now stop making everything weird!” Yurio exclaimed, pushing Viktor away and sitting down at the table, looking pointedly at his plate. Yuuri sighed, he wasn’t done with it, and now, together with the surprise, he felt a deep sense of affection and marvel surge up for that boy that had started their friendship by shouting murder at him in a bathroom in Sochi.

*** ***

He was working on the DJ set for the next gig when his phone rang with Eye of the Tiger. He saved the playlist and took the phone, answering the facetime call. While it wasn’t unusual for Yuri to call so late, he usually sent a message beforehand.

“That fucking blond without a filter and without a brain, like every blond…” was what greeted him.

“Yuri…” he tried to interrupt. Unsuccessfully.

“Bloody fucking hell, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and that idiot Katsudon had to learn RUSSIAN of all things,” Otabek thought that it was perfectly reasonable, given that it was the language spoken where he lived and trained now, but he had started having an inkling of what had happened.

“Yura…” he tried again, with no better luck.

“That damn stupid blond troll, fucking idiot as any blond…” Otabek started laughing, then, although he knew that Yuri would get angrier. “WHAT?” the shout just made him laugh harder and the Kazakh wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes,

“Yura, my friend, you’re blond too…”

A string of curses answered him and then Yura disappeared from the screen and the call ended.

Otabek smirked at his phone, waiting for it to ring again.

Which it did thirty seconds later. He swiped following the green arrows. “You threw your phone, didn’t you?”, he asked, knowing the answer as he watched Yuri appear back on the screen. A telling silence followed his question. Then he heard a barely-there,

“Yeah.”

“Did it break?” he asked, knowing his friend.

“No. After the last one, Viktor gave me one in Kevlar.” Otabek laughed again, but this time the call wasn’t interrupted. “I’m so glad I brought so much glee in your day, Altin,” the sarcasm, at least, said that whatever had happened wasn’t so bad.

“Come on, tell me everything again.”

Otabek sat comfortably on his bed, hearing Yura start the story from scratch – not without curses. When he ended, the silence stretched for several seconds.

“Beka?” His friend asked, and Otabek wanted to smile: that boy was so impatient. On the screen, the Kazakh could see the Russian boy sitting up with his knees up to his chest, his face half-hidden behind his legs.

“I think that’s good, isn’t it? At least, you know that the transplant has been successful and I think it’s nice that he knows, now.”

“But what if he’s angry with me?” Yuri murmured in the fabric of his sweatpants, barely audible on the other side of the phone.

“He’s not, I promise Yura.” Otabek reassured him, “He was surprised and taken aback, for sure, but he wouldn’t be angry with you. With Viktor, on the other hand…”

Yuri raised his head up suddenly “He can’t be mad at the old man!” he said, voice rising too, “I asked that he keep the secret.”

“See? You are reasonable when you want.” Otabek smirked and on the other side, Yura huffed.

“You’re the worst _friend ever_.”

“Uh, strange, I believed this _worst friend ever_ had been asked to find a good song for next year’s programs and I just thought I might have the right one…” he teased.

“Worst friend? Best friend ever, you heard wrong, now what’s the song, Altin?”

He sent the other boy a link to download a personal arrangement he himself had made for Yura and tried to ignore the fact that he spent long, agonizing hours making it and was almost (almost!) bouncing on his feet to know what Yura thought about it.

Ah, the things that he did for that boy…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> время обеда = Lunch/dinner time (please correct me if any dictionary I used was bullshit)  
> привет = hello


	25. Chapter Twenty-five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR!!
> 
> WORLDS ARE COMING!! Come on, only few days, and few chapters!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so terrible with the schedule, but to my partial defence, it's been crazy with work, so... I hope you can forgive me!!

One week left to Worlds: practically the whole senior rink was going… even Lilia was joining them, otherwise it would be impossible for Yakov to be at the Kiss&Cry with all his athletes. Well, Viktor and him were mostly independent, still, having their coaches there helped tremendously. No one wanted a repeat of Yekaterinburg, and at least this time there had been good news.

He and Mila had intensified the practices with the kids, as Yuuri was due to come home the day after their return from Boston. Georgi also enjoyed seeing Vitya get back to his usual self more and more as the date approached, although that meant that the sound of Yakov shouting was becoming once again a very familiar sound at the rink. Even Yura had mellowed a bit at the news, and that had had an effect on his jumps, which had started to come back in the last few days. Getting top ten seemed the most approachable result for him, Georgi thought as he sighed somewhat resignedly, what with Viktor back, Yura being himself, and then Giacometti, Altin… well, he could hope for top five at least. He liked the challenge, though, and he had worked hard to polish his free skate (and Yuuri was unforgiving as an assistant-coach, even through Skype).

They would leave in a couple of days and by now were ready, they would get there earlier to adjust to the jet-lag, only one thing remained and Mila was taking care of it right at that moment: she was giving the children homework, so that they could be ready when they’d be back.

Yura appeared next to him.

“Katsudon knows.” He said. Georgi turned towards him, ostensibly raising an eyebrow.

“Does he, now?” he asked, prompting the teen to talk. He was curious, “Did you change your mind?”

“No. That idiotic blond nurse, Mikhail, recognized me. And Katsudon knows more Russian now… “

Georgi laughed and clapped his hand on Yuri’s shoulder.

“Come on, it’s not that bad. Or is it bad?”

“He was angry… or… I don’t know, worried? He’s an idiot, worried for me when he’s the one with the fucking leukemia.”

“Well, he is your friend, it’s quite normal. Mila and I worry about you too, don’t you know, Yura?”

“Mila wanted to stab me when she found me.” Georgi smirked.

“Well, that’s our Milotchka, it’s how she shows it. Are you ready for Worlds?” he changed topic.

“I’m ready to beat the old man!”

“ _You won’t beat anyone if you don’t get on the ice, Yura!”_ Yakov yelled, “And Popovich, on the ice you too, I want to see your quadruple Toe… _NOW!”_.

Both of them scrambled, while Mila laughed on the side, encouraging the children to jeer at them.

Oh well, things didn’t really change.

*** ***

The nurse looked at her charge with a raised eyebrow. Sometimes her patients were really stubborn. This one? One of the most stubborn ones.

“Are you sure you want to go on with this plan, Yuuri?” she asked, while he checked Viktor’s schedule for Worlds.

“Hai… yes, Raissa, I’m sure. I really _really_ want to go out of here, but if I were to tell Viktor he would stay behind, I don’t want that at all.”

Raissa sighed, amused, and helped Yuuri in a stretch, moving his body the way he had explained to her.

“Ok, I’ll help you, but only because Lyusha would be so sad not to see Viktor at Worlds, he has already all the times of the competitions noted down, and would watch everything if I let him.”

“Some are in the middle of the night.” Yuuri observed.

“Those are the ones I won’t let him see. Live. He may find a recording later, if he’s well-behaved enough.” Yuuri chuckled.

“I remember doing the same… I think I’m managing Russian now because I listened to like a lot of it in those early years.” Raissa laughed.

“At least you learnt how to say double and triple!” she joked.

They laughed, then Yuuri groaned when Raissa pushed him into another stretch. His strength had been coming back steadily, his blood count had improved beyond doctor Gusarova’s expectations, so she would allow him to think that he’d be fine by himself.

It was true that she had told him that he might be overwhelmed by too many people at once at the beginning, but, well, this was another extreme.

When her shift ended, she looked for a Katsuki Mari on Twitter (yes, she knew how to use it) and sent her a DM, putting her own devious plan in motion.

*** ***

Luckily, the flight had been uneventful. Leaving St. Petersburg had never been harder, what with Makkachin in a kennel (well looked after, treated like a princess) and Yuuri’s return scheduled for just the day after they were due to come back. A part of him wanted Worlds to finish already, regardless of the result, or even to get a plane back and go home, wait for Yuuri there. The other one wanted to survive, and kept pointing out that Yuuri would probably kill him if he did anything like that. The Russian team was all together while getting in the hotel, and Viktor just wanted to check in and go to rest, text with Yuuri, check on Makka... at least that was the plan until a well-known arm slipped around his shoulders and Chris’ deep voice greeted him,

“Hallo, mon ami, how dreadful was the flight?”

“Horrible, like every flight with Aeroflot.” Viktor sighed melodramatically, “And I think I want to be here even less than last year.”

“Yet, for all the awful things in the last months, you’re better than last year. There’s life again in your eyes…” Viktor caught the key that Mila threw to him, and Chris steered them towards the elevator.

“It’s Yuuri… he’s… he’s my everything.”

“Oh, mon ami, we all know how you feel, it’s pretty hard to miss.” They walked in silence towards Viktor’s room, where they both got in and Viktor started putting away his things while Chris sat cross-legged on the bed. “Now that we’re out of earshot, how are you, seriously?”

“The truth?”

“And none other than the truth.” Chris confirmed.

“I wanted to stay in St. Petersburg, I’ve been tempted to go back to the airport and take that plane back just to wait for Yuuri there but…”

“My friend, your Yuuri loves seeing you skate almost as much as he loves you, and he loves you like a fucking lot but he’d have made you sleep on the sofa for a month.” Viktor laughed.

“Oh no, not that sofa, please, it’s terrible. And I do have a guest room.”

“Pfui, like Plisetsky would leave it to you!”

“Lucky that I’m here, then!” Chris laughed, and Viktor followed and wasn’t that a stark comparison to the last time they had seen each other. He sat down next to one of his oldest friends and slumped against his shoulder. Chris didn’t waste time in putting his arm, again, around his shoulder and didn’t say anything when Viktor sniffed.

“He’s coming home, Vitya, just a few days, now, and you have plenty of things to keep you busy… a few days more and Yuuri’ll be in your arms again.”

“I know… it’s just…it’s been so long, and it seems like it’ll never end.”

“But it will. And you’ll go home and then take him home.”

“I want to do something special for him, here…”

“Maybe something for the exhibition skate?” Chris suggested. Viktor jumped upright.

“ _The Exhibition!_ What a wonderful idea, Chris! Come on, we have to find the others, I have an idea.”

Chris groaned and laughed and followed him outside of the room, stopping him just to fetch the keycard (it wouldn’t have been the first time Viktor had closed the door and left the key inside…)

*** ***

He had managed to avoid the Yuri’s Angels, just barely, and huffed throwing his back pack on the bed and pulling his suitcase inside, not even completely closing the door. He shucked away his jacket and run the hand not holding the phone through his hair, messing it up even more than the plane had managed to. Looking on the phone screen again, he was disappointed not to see any message from Otabek, and to say that he should already be there. He dropped on the bed, sitting, trying to decide if it is was more urgent a shower or a nap, when someone knocked at the door, that opened without prompting because he had been an idiot. He didn’t even see who it was, before his eyes were caught by something being thrown towards him, and he just about managed to avoid being hit by a heavy, round object, with a long ribbon on a side. He took a look at the makeshift projectile.

A medal.

A gold medal.

A gold medal for that year’s Four Continents.

“Told you I’d win gold.” Otabek said, leaning against the door with his shoulder, a sardonic smirk on his face. Yuri threw the medal back, aiming at his head, and snickered when Otabek hastily ducked, sending the medal scattering in the, luckily empty, hallway, “Do you have to try to kill me?” his friend asked, getting it back and checking it for damage. Yuri snickered more.

“Oh, come on, your face was hilarious!”

“You could have broken it, or hit someone…”

“I see where your priorities lie, Altin…” Yuri finally allowed himself to look at his friend, and was momentarily stunned to see him look at him with a soft smile on his face. It wasn’t that Otabek was expressionless but… he usually had a sort of poker face that made him hardly readable by others (contrarily to Yuri, who seemed to broadcast whatever he was thinking). Still, with him he seemed to relax, and that particular smile had been a common occurrence in those months, but seeing it in real life was different. Their eyes met.

“Hello Yura.” Beka said softly, stepping towards him and hugging him, and Yuri raised his arms and hugged him back.

“Hello Beka.” He muffled on his shoulder, realizing he was reaching higher than six weeks before, almost at the same height. He missed when he could half hide under Otabek’s arms, even though it had happened a handful of times only.

“You’ve grown.”

“Yeah… growth spurts suck.” Otabek laughed, letting him go, Yuri following suit, albeit rather reluctantly.

“Do you think you’ll become as tall as Viktor?”

“Fuck, I hope not, it’s still, what, twelve centimeters? No, no, it’s been a nightmare with the jumps already… I hope I have the next one after this, so I can be done with it by next season!” he said, horrified at the perspective of living again through those awful weeks of not knowing where his balance was anymore.

Otabek laughed at him, again!

“It’s not like you can choose when to have them!” He said.

“I’ll order them when to come, it’s been worse than when I was learning to do doubles!” Otabek kept on laughing, and Yuri decided that it was ridiculous to be still standing and plopped on the bed, patting the cover on beside him.

“How is Katsuki?” Beka asked. Yuri sat and butterflied his legs, sole against sole.

“Packing, hopefully. He’s better, I cannot believe it worked...” He looked at his feet, where he still had some redness from the new skates he had to buy three weeks before because the old ones were too small.

“It couldn’t be otherwise, he’s stubborn, you’re more stubborn, I don’t want to imagine how he’ll be… we’ll have to watch out, Yura. I’m suddenly glad I got this gold at 4CC, I doubt I’ll manage again.”

“Well, at least he’ll make it interesting,”

Beka grinned at him and lightly hit him on an arm. “Come on, stop sulking, do you want to go sightseeing? We don’t have ice time until tomorrow.”

“Ok… let me send a text to Yakov and the old man before they send out a rescue party.”

Yakov texted back with a laconic ‘ok’ while they were getting out of the room, while the Old Man’s text was a series of idiotic emojis, and went almost ignored while they got out of the hotel. Yuri didn’t even know what there was to see in Boston, but he didn’t really care, just following Beka and letting himself be distracted.


	26. Chapter Twenty-six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, I can't believe we're at chapter 26... 
> 
> A POV change, because when do Yuuri's plan go exactly as he wanted them to go? *winks*

Hiroko had never put foot outside of Japan, and the only planes she had travelled with were national flights, to go and see her son in Sapporo or Tokyo. She was usually content with her small world in Hasetsu, her ryokan and onsen, her husband and daughter, their neighbors and the customers. She was also a mother who hadn’t seen her ill child in person for almost four months, and said ill child was set to get out from seven weeks of isolation in hospital (unnerving but necessary) and then go home  _ alone _ , because he wanted to keep it a surprise from his fiancé.

Which, while sweet and so very typical for Yuuri, well. There was a limit to everything.

He didn’t even tell her! She had known of it because of that angel in the form of a nurse that was Raissa, and she would never be more grateful that she had reached out to her, knowing her son’s plan.

Oh, she couldn’t wait to have him in her arms again, but before that, she had to deal with the airport. She was surprised to see a plump dark-haired woman with a sign with her name on at the arrival exit of the Pulkovo Airport. She headed towards her and the woman smiled.

“Hiroko-san?” she asked, the japanese strange in that mouth.

“Hai. Raissa-san?” she replied. When the woman nodded, Hiroko smiled widely and let the other one sweep her in a not very Japanese hug.

“I’m so happy you are here!” Raissa said, her accented English careful, just like it was at the phone, “I can’t wait to see Yuuri’s face.” She grinned.

“I cannot wait to see him. How is he? You’re the one who sees him more often!” Hiroko exclaimed. The nurse was, in person, just what she had thought she would be at the phone: a cheerful and caring woman. Her eyes shimmered.

“He’s still thin, but his hair is growing back, and he’s much better. His blood counts are better than we hoped, Hiroko.” Raissa stopped and took Hiroko’s hand, gripping it hard. “He’s a fighter, my friend, and he’ll be thrilled to see you.”

“He’ll cry.” Hiroko said, her voice wetter than she had intended.

“For sure. But it’s not a bad thing to cry of joy, especially when your mother is there to hug you.”

Raissa opened the car and Hiroko loaded her suitcase inside, while the nurse took the wheel. She had obtained the keys to Viktor’s and Yuuri’s house thanks to a conniving Lilia Baranovskaya, and they were headed there first. It was morning and Yuuri would be released in the afternoon, giving Hiroko time to rest a couple of hours and to put up a batch of dashi: the day called for katsudon, and she had brought her own ingredients (apart from the meat, that Raissa had bought for her on her instruction). They entered the tidy apartment, and Hiroko approved of the general hygiene. She knew that Viktor had taken the instructions from the hospital very seriously and even the nurse gave her seal of approval. They parted there, and Raissa told her to come to the hospital around 4pm, and to ask of her when she arrived.

Hiroko was left alone and huffed. She explored the house, admiring the modern appliances and nodding satisfied when she saw the rice cooker on the kitchen top. She found the boys’ room and smirked at the extravagant lights, and then she found the guestroom, tidy and with a wardrobe where the smell of laundry detergent let her find fresh linens easily. She smiled when she found a leopard print shirt hanging in the wardrobe, imagining who was the main guest of the room. The routine of making the bed and putting her things away relaxed her enough that she managed to sleep, and when she woke up, she prepared the rice for the evening and used some to make herself a simple egg and rice with some ginger.

She freshened up Yuuri’s and Viktor’s room, and approved of the lengthy instructions in the bathroom.

When everything was ready, she took a taxi and went to the hospital, a trepidation she had maybe only felt at Yuuri’s first competition giving her a slight headache from the nerves.

At the hospital, a young nurse rapidly helped her to find Raissa, and then it was time. Hiroko stood alone in front of the door of the isolation wing of the hospital and just breathed. Her phone chimed with a message from Mari, asking if he was out, yet, and then with one from Minako asking her to hug Yuuri for her too. She couldn’t wait to see her child, her baby boy, who was always training and living abroad, and whom she loved dearly for his independence too.

Raissa appeared next to her.

“He’s coming out.” She said and Hiroko felt her eyes burn in the wait.

Then, that door clicked and it opened, and her son’s voice carried off, talking animatedly in Russian of all things with the tall nurse behind him. Yuuri turned and observed the threshold that had kept him almost prisoner for seven weeks and then his almost haunted gaze fled to her and became incredulous instead. Yuuri stopped on his feet, taking barely enough time to search her eyes with his, the same dark brown, the same blue rimmed glasses. She saw his eyes fill with the same tears that filled hers.

“Okaasan…” he murmured, not a question, but a surprised whisper.

“My Yuuchan…” she said back, wetly, her arms spreading, because she knew her baby boy, and the space was not enough to run, but he covered those three meters in quick strides, and Hiroko could finally,  _ finally _ engulf her child in her embrace once again.

“Okaasan!” he exclaimed, his voice muffled on her shoulder, and Yuuri wasn’t very tall (he was at a respectable height, especially for a Japanese man) but she was shorter than him, and she felt him huddle in, making himself smaller to fit in her arms like he could when he was a child. Hiroko tightened her embrace, nuzzling his short hair with her nose and a wet laugh escaped her. She felt Yuuri push her, keeping his hands on her arms, “How… how are you here?! I didn’t tell anyone!”

“Yes, I know very well, that’s why I’m so grateful Raissa told me.” She said, sending a side glance to the nurse who was grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“You didn’t have to…”

“Oh, shush, yes, I had to, because I missed you and I wanted to see you after your treatment and because you planned to spend the first days out completely alone and no, that wouldn’t do. And be thankful that we’re in the Sakura period and Mari couldn’t come, otherwise I suspect you’d have had everyone here.” She lightly chastised him, cupping his cheeks in her hands and sweeping his eyes from stray tears.

“’Kaasan…”

“Aren’t you happy that I’m here?” she asked, knowing exactly his answer. He nodded immediately and rapidly, and Hiroko knew that her son was overwhelmed, especially after seven weeks of almost complete isolation. He burrowed again in her arms. “Come on, let’s get you home, we can watch Vicchan and Yurio together and you can explain me all the jumps I always forget.” Yuuri nodded in her arms and Hiroko smiled, thanking Raissa and Mikhail when they took Yuuri’s bags and accompanied them at the taxi that was already waiting outside.

  
  


*** ***

He was both nervous and excited: he was just about to go out and his surprise for Viktor (and the others), who had just left for Worlds and would be back in a week, was on schedule. Mikhail had insisted to help him with the luggage, saying that it was hospital policy, and Yuuri didn’t want to quarrel about that. They were discussing, in Russian, about the last Final Fantasy they had played (Mikhail was a  _ huge _ nerd), when the door clicked, opened remotely from the offices. He pulled it open, and fixed his gaze on that narrow strip of pavement that divided his prison from his freedom, feeling his stomach churn and unable to decide if they were excited butterflies or nausea. Then he raised his gaze, because he had noticed feet in front of him, and his brain short circuited. It couldn’t be… but… that smile, those eyes…

“Okaasan…” he managed to choke out. His mother had  _ come _ all the way to St. Petersburg for him… and Yuuri felt overwhelmed, especially when she answered calling him  _ Yuuchan,  _ like she did when he was just a child. He saw her arms move and his body seemed to move by itself, because his strides were long and purposeful and, in a blink, he was wrapped in her arms, in the embrace that he had longed for. He made himself small, because he was tired, and now his  _ mom _ was there and he didn’t fell so lonely anymore. It was easy to hug her back, and he loved how she just held him.

  
  


Coming back to Viktor’s apartment with his mom was almost surreal, but when he got in, he immediately smelled the dashi on the stove, the herbal tea his mother always had ready, the smells of  _ home _ , the one in Japan, there in St. Petersburg, where his new home was.

“Go and rest, Yuuchan, I’ll have a light snack ready for later.” She said, while puttering in the kitchen. Yuuri went to change into something more comfortable, stopping for a few moments in the bedroom where he found one of Vitya’s sweaters that had been worn once or twice. He changed in his sweatpants and a shirt, and then stole that one thing smelling of his fiancé (and of ice in the rink, oh, he couldn’t wait to be back!). He went back to the kitchen and sat down on the stool, his mother smiling at him while pouring tea for herself and then a mug for him too. “Not tired?”

“Not much. You’re here, I want to spend time with you.” He answered, enclosing the mug with both hands and bringing it to his lips, sipping the hot flowery blend. “Thanks to Mikhail and Raissa I wasn’t really alone, and Skype and the messages helped a lot... but I hadn’t realized how much I missed you in Detroit and having the choice taken from me in the hospital… I missed you mom.” he blushed.

“Awww, Yuuchan…” she left the mug on her side of the table and stood up, and Yuuri found himself in his mother’s arms once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have ever wondered, Viktor's apartment is inspired by this project!
> 
> https://aminoapps.com/c/yuri-on-ice-4114513/page/blog/viktors-apartment/3EK1_5bcBu0nG5DeGPBZXd2P6L0zboqxjN
> 
> and I take this into consideration, I only basically added a room for Yura XD


	27. Chapter Twenty-seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it's Competition time, for some of our heroes!!
> 
> A little tie-in chapter to deliver us to the end of this fic!! Phew, hasn't this been a journey and a half?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late, my Beta had some really harsh weeks and she apologizes. I told her it wasn't a problem, you already had to wait for me XD.

MEDIA

_“Welcome to everyone! It’s the most exciting moment to be here, the Figure Skating World Championship starts today and we’ll be happy to watch these fantastic skaters doing wonders with you! Here’s Ted Barton on air from Boston! We started this morning with the Ice Dance, where the French couple Gabriella PAPADAKIS and Guillaume CIZERON enchanted the arena with their short dance, quite closely followed by America’s Maia and Alex SHIBUTANI and CHOCK/BATES._

_Now, we’re waiting for the Men Single short program, where we have a very interesting set of skaters and a close competition for the podium. Not only Viktor Nikiforov, whose come-back at Russian Nationals, after a period spent coaching Japan’s Ace Yuuri Katsuki to the podium, has been a roaring road to success, but also Senior debutant Yuri Plisetsky, who, after winning the Grand Prix Series above Katsuki, went and got silver both at Russian Nationals and European Championship after his rink mate Nikiforov. Nikiforov who is also his short program choreographer._

_Russia’s own derby can still be disrupted, though! Four Continents left us with the Kazakh Otabek Altin in wonderful shape, and silver medalist Phichit Chulanont from Thailand just wants to get them back. Not that Giacometti from Switzerland or the other skaters will make it easy. These last months have been so strange in the skater community, that is spread around the world yet was able to get together as close knit as no one would imagine for Katsuki’s illness. I wonder what kind of competition we would have with him here, but I hope next year will answer our questions. I hope we’ll see him soon back on the ice, and wish him a very swift recover! And now, the first group of skaters is getting on the ice for the six-minute warm up!”_

**Figure-skating-is-my-soul:** Here we are again, for another year, I welcome you in the live stream kindly offered by our Russian Friend @Mila-my-queen. Keep the comments in English, please, and be kind to one another and to our beloved skaters. This skating season has been such a rollercoaster! And the Short program too, we have Otabek Altin in first position, Nikiforov following and Plisetsky just few cents of a point behind.

 **Mila-my-queen:** Welcome, welcome, and you’re welcome, I’m as excited as you, and thanks to the highlanders of the fans for being here at this hour #timezonessuck

 **Phichit-is-my-king:** Aaaaand we’re ready to conquer the world!! Go Phichit!!

 **Victory-Bringer** : Oh, no way! Viktor will win everything.

 **The-Angel:** Nikiforov’s time is over, our Yurachka will get his well-deserved gold.

 **Figure-skating-is-my-soul:** It will surely be a very interesting Worlds; I can’t wait for the free skate to start!

 **Katsuki-foreva:** Hi people! Has it started? I’m late, and I’m a bit bummed that Yuuri-kun is not there, but I know he’ll be watching this too, so, here I am!!

 **Mila-my-queen** : you’re perfectly on time, @ **Katsuki-foreva** , the first group is going in now.

_“And this closes the second to last group. We had some surprises in this group, like Minami Kenjirou from Japan who is now first after scoring just below 180 points, it’ll be a good challenge for the last group skaters._

_We’re going to see Altin from Kazakhstan, who is first after the short program. He did well at Worlds last year, bringing home a bronze medal, and he’s a very strong jumper, with solid programs. His components tend to somewhat suffer, but he’s been steadily improving. Giacometti from Switzerland is always ready to start new trends and to shock his audience, always able to bring the public with him. His quadruple Lutz is a beautiful jump, I cannot wait to see what he’ll bring this time. Popovich is a veteran, a well-rounded skater from Russia, one of the three Coach Feltsman brings this year to the finals, well deserved as well.”_

_“Right, Massimiliano, and the other skaters are just as interesting: take for example the newcomer Chulanont, the first skater from Thailand to participate in a Grand Prix final, he is fun to watch, although he’s still working on his jumps. His musicality is extreme, and his ability to carry the public with him is always catching, like the songs he chooses. And there are two more Russian skaters. Plisetsky, in his first year as a senior is fresh from a gold in the Grand Prix and silver to Russian Championship and European championship. He’s still a tad green on components and presentation, but his fire to win is incredible.”_

_“I totally agree Angelo. And last, but not least, Viktor Nikiforov, who got back to the ice just in time for the Russian Nationals, bringing home a gold after coaching Katsuki for the whole Grand Prix series. A miracle man in more than one way: he brought Katsuki from failing at last year’s Japanese Nationals to a silver medal at the Grand Prix final and a gold medal at this season’s nationals, and choreographed 3 of the 4 programs for the gold and silver medalists at the Grand Prix. His comeback is nothing if not extraordinary, especially at 28 years old, and we’ll be thrilled to see him on the ice.”_

_“Yes, definitely, and I hope that we’ll be soon seeing a true competition between Plisetsky, Nikiforov and Katsuki in the future, because that day will be a great day for Figure Skating.”_

*** ***

Boston. Worlds. The ice rink gleamed with lights and the flash of the photos, the red dots on the cameras filming and spreading their images all over the world. Phichit grinned, his chest swirling with a mix of emotions: the excitement of being there, among the best of the sport, representing Thailand. And the hurt at Yuuri’s absence, mixed with the elation of his recover. Those had been some strange months, indeed, and nothing hit him weirder than when Plisetsky sidled up to him. They were due to get on the ice for the six-minutes warm-up in a very short time, and they were all moving to keep warm and limber for the last skate of the last competition of the season.

“If I kill a journalist, will they prosecute me? I’m underage.”

“We’re in America, _buddy,”_ he answered, imitating the Detroit accent he had gotten used to, “they’ll fry you over for being a _commie_. Who is giving you problems?” he asked. Yuri huffed.

“The one from Euro asking after Katsudon is here… _again_.”

“Oh, is he, now?” Phichit asked, and Yuri pointed him.

“Yep, that asshole there. And he’s been trying to talk with me and the old man, but for now Yakov and Lilia have kept him away, but after the short…” He said.

“Oh, well, _leave him to me_ , _buddy._ ”

“Sure, not like I care what happens to him…” the teen grinned mischievously and Phichit was just too happy to match that grin with his own.

The voice calling all athletes to the warm-up brought them back to reality, and Phichit pushed Yuri until they were gathered at the gate with the others.

The emcee announced the last group and everyone skated to the middle to be presented. He bowed and then when it finished, he started doing laps and jumps, paying maybe even more attention than usual to avoiding bumping into the others.

He was first after the six minutes and he thrummed with energy, he couldn’t wait to show everyone his best program ever. He skated and when he passed in front of one of the cameras he waved, and then he saw that every one of them was waving to the same camera, the closest one, for each pass. When his name was called by the emcee, Phichit made sure to slide in an Ina Bauer, Yuuri’s favorite one, and winked at the camera, sure that Yuuri would understand what each of them was doing.

Then the six minutes were up, and everyone got out but him. He was first, then Georgi, Chris, Altin, Plisetsky and Nikiforov. The game was on.

*** ***

Yuuri had forgotten how much about skating he had to explain to his mom each time, but it didn’t annoy him, just reminded him of when he was little and they watched together the competitions. It reminded him of his first lessons and of the day he first saw a barely teen Viktor Nikiforov wowing the public and the world on thin blades.

Watching the short had been strange, what with Otabek taking the lead, and the consequent call with Viktor, listing _his_ mistakes (small mistakes, but still… the faulty ice was only a part of the problem) had had his mother in stitches when he closed the call, and she had had to go out for a few minutes so that Viktor didn’t hear her.

“Oh my, Yuu-chan, I can’t say I would have ever imagined you criticizing Viktor Nikiforov of all skaters!” Yuuri laughed because, yeah, if someone had said something similar to himself one year before, he would have probably gone on a tirade on how impossible it was.

“I had some suggestion for Yurio too, you know, mom? Just a year ago I was almost frightened of that boy…”

“Our Yurio is as prickly outside as he’s soft inside. He’s caring and loyal and life hasn’t been too generous with him, although he has some good friends now…”

“Mom…” Yuuri started, then huffed,

“What, dear?” she asked and Yuuri went to the kitchen where his mom was making tea and shuffled the floor.

“Speaking of Yurio… mom, he… he’s my donor.”

Yuuri had never seen his mother moving so fast, barely managing not to drop the mug on the floor.

“What? But… he’s underage, I thought…”

“I know, right? I didn’t even know until ten days ago or so… he didn’t want to tell me… and I have no idea of how he managed to convince the doctors.”

“Oh, Yuu-chan… I see you are conflicted, but, don’t… he’s such a generous boy.” She enveloped him in her arms again, “Come on, tell me everything, I know that’s not all.”

Sometimes, he liked feeling like a 14-year-old. He took a deep breath and finally started talking, unloading all his very mixed feeling, of gratefulness and anger, to someone he knew would know to understand.


	28. Chapter Twenty-eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the competition, things happen in the press room...

Taking off the jacket during the warm up, he heard the collective gasp in the public. He had almost fought with the costume designer to get the right sleeve in a light blue color. He hadn’t even told Yuuri about the change, and he couldn’t wait to call him after the skate. He shook his head and that thought with it: he was on the ice, at the center of the rink, ready to perform. He kissed his ring, knowing in his heart that Yuuri was doing the same in St. Petersburg, in the hospital white room, then got to his starting pose, dropping his head on his chest, and waited for Stammi Vicino to start. The first notes rang in the rink, and he raised his head, and then lunged forward, eager to finish the last competition dividing him from Yuuri, eager to bring a gift home to his love.

It was so different from the first time he had performed it, at the beginning of the Grand Prix season that had brought him to meet his золотце. Even before that, when he had first heard the song, it had strung a chord deep in his soul. He had been feeling empty, dull, for quite a while, maybe a season or even two. Yes, victory still brought him a sense of happiness, but it was fleeting, weak, nothing more than a transient gratification, and then, the final, the banquet, _Yuuri…_ It was almost one year to the day he flew to Japan on a whim, leaving behind a screaming Yakov and arriving in Hasetsu together with an unusual spring snow. He remembered wanting to try the onsen right away and then… Yuuri, fully dressed, had opened the screen and blanched. And well, maybe standing buck naked from the pool _hadn’t been the smoothest move ever, very classy, Nikiforov,_ but it had worked. It had been worth it all.

His flow of thoughts was interrupted by the increasing difficulty of the program, and in his mind, he followed Yuuri’s lead, that video he had impressed in his head, where an out of shape, beautiful Yuuri had skated to this same song in Hasetsu, thinking that no one would see it. He tried to put into this skate, more than anything else, the sensations and the emotions Yuuri had awakened again in him without even knowing, not even trying.

Viktor had known once again what life and happiness was beside that man. Yes, in the last months he had known also despair and sadness and anger (so much anger), but he could swear that he’d do it all again from scratch, just to stand beside Yuuri again.

Stammi Vicino was not an unanswered cry on the ice anymore. Now it was the declaration of love and devotion it was meant to be, and Viktor knew, when he landed his last jump perfectly and went in the last seconds of the skate, that this would be his best rendition ever of his love letter to Yuuri.

The ending notes perfectly matched his final pose and he held it for a few seconds, while cheers exploded all around and plushies rained on the ice. Slowly, he lowered his hands and looked around. He bowed, slowly, slower than usual, to every side of the rink, while the public applauded and cheered. The flower girls and boys were trying to gather the plushies and flowers, when one of those caught his attention. It was a Makkachin one, as they were wont to throw on the ice for him, but it had Yuuri’s Stammi Vicino costume and a crown of blue roses on the head. He skated and caught it, dusting the thin layer of ice from it. He smiled at it, raising his gaze to see if he could identify who launched it, and saw a big banner, with the logo of Yuuri’s fan club on (he was a member too, although Yuuri didn’t know that), and four people jumping and pointing at a fifth, a girl with a blue pom-pom on her woolen hat. He waved at them, and hugged the plushie, and the girl beamed and then hid behind her hands.

Finally, he skated towards the exit, where Yakov waited for him, with a quick hug: unusual since when he’d cut his hair and tried to convey he was an adult.

“Yuuri will be proud of you, Vitya, well done, my boy.” Yakov murmured, passing him the skate guards and then helping him with the jacket again. They sat in the Kiss & Cry uncomfortable sofa, before Yakov passed him his phone, where a message read:

**ЗОЛОТЦЕ**

I cannot believe you did that to your

costume. You were enchanting and

I love you so much.

Viktor looked straight at the camera with his eyes wet, and mouthed “I love you too, Золотце”, sending him a kiss and making the Makkachin plushie dance in front of it.

He barely caught his score, while Yakov exulted next to him. He was first, with Yura and Otabek still having to skate.

*** ***

He was happy with his fifth place, especially for his first foray at Worlds, and he got into the winners’ press conference to support his friends. Viktor, in the middle, kept trying to stop his leg from fidgeting. Phichit had learnt (and yes, sometimes this blew his mind) that when Viktor couldn’t keep still, it was because he didn’t want to be there. He didn’t need to be a genius to understand that he really just wanted to go back to the hotel room and talk to Yuuri. Who, by the way, was messaging him.

**YUURI soon-to-be NIKIFOROV**

Oh gosh, what bit him?

Phichit smirked

**THE BEST INFLUENSKATER**

HA, Yuuri, don’t you imagine?

He can’t wait to call you…

Yuuri in Viktor on a tree

K I S S I N G

I should tell you that you’re not

an American grade-schooler, but sometimes

it’s exactly what you are.

Ah, but you didn’t deny it!

Not much kissing in the last almost two months…

UGH!

I’m sure you’ll recover soon enough 😏

Phichit! It’s none of your business!!

You’re a horrible friend! You should let me live

your love life vicariously

No! It’s creepy! And pay attention, it’s

starting!

It doesn’t end here, Katsuki…

Yuuri didn’t answer again before he lowered his phone (after Ciao Ciao had soundly cleared his throat). Besides Viktor, Plisetsky and Otabek sat at the table, waiting for the torture to start. Only Viktor was smiling, and Phichit recognized his media-smile, which he would have never suspected was false if he hadn’t known, now, that Nikiforov’s true smile was way more open, prone to resemble a heart, and just for his friends. Yuri and Otabek… well, Altin was as stoic as usual, but when his eyes fell on Yuri’s grimace, the corner of his mouth curled just slightly upward and his eyes glimmered with mirth. To his well-trained eyes, at least, who knew if anyone else could even catch that?

The noise around died down when the moderator for the press arrived in the room. He took his microphone and greeted all the people around them. Phichit felt someone touch his shoulder and smiled at Sara, Michele, Emil and Chris who joined him on the side. Michele glared at himand he just rolled his eyes at that.

“Welcome everyone to the press conference for the Men Single Free Skate. Here we have Viktor Nikiforov, Otabek Altin and Yuri Plisetsky, respectively Gold, Silver and Bronze medalists. Let’s start by congratulating the athletes for their formidable performances!”

An applause started out then, and they joined in, while on the elevated platform Viktor smiled for the cameras, Yuri glared at them and Altin just looked bored. He probably was.

“Ok, then, let’s start. You can each ask a question to the athletes, keep them on the competition, please.” He warned, his voice dipping into a sterner tone. Phichit knew this had been Feltsman’s doing, after the last few competition media mishaps.

Several hands shot out and the moderator started allowing them to ask their questions.

At the beginning, it was all the same rote ones: how do you feel after coming back, what is like to go on the podium on your debut in senior division, what is like to go back with a gold and a silver from the last two competitions of the year, the same old thing. Then, Phichit saw _the journalist_ , the one that kept harassing them all with gossip, trying to get information about Yuuri, raise his hand and be allowed his question. Phichit had his phone up and an Instagram Live active before you could say Ina Bauer.

“Yura,” he started, and Yuri literally growled at the table. Viktor scowled and pulled his mic closer,

“I realize that you aren’t familiar with Russian manners, Mr. Mathew,” _or any manners,_ Phichit thought viciously, “so you might not know this, but it’s not polite to call a person with their familiar name if you haven’t been invited to do so, so, please, rephrase that.” Viktor’s tone was pleasant but with just that hint of steel that said ‘Don’t mess with me’.

The man didn’t even acknowledge his mistake, continuing to speak. “Yuri, do you feel like you’ve been robbed of the victory? I mean, Altin wasn’t on your level at the Grand Prix Final and Nikiforov has come back from a sabbatical year…”

Yuri growled again, pulling his microphone much like Viktor, but definitely in a much jerkier manner, given the alarmed expression of the sound engineer there to the side.

“My competitors won fair and square, and I’m glad I could share the ice and the podium with them.” Yuri bit out, almost harshly enough to sound like false praise, though it wasn’t: hell, Phichit knew that Yuri was just chuffed at sharing the podium with Viktor and Otabek.

“Oh, come on, at the very least, you must have been glad Katsuki was out of the games, because he would have probably inched you out of the podium!”

Phichit could _not_ believe the guts of that… that… that…

On the platform, Viktor had become livid, gripping the table with white knuckles. Otabek was visibly worried, when he looked at Yuri, and turned an ice-cold glare towards the reporter.

Phichit kept recording. Yuri drew a long breath to steady himself.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” he begun, voice tight. “is my competitor, rink-mate _and_ friend, he has all my respect and I would have liked the chance to compete with him here too, and to beat him again fair and square. This is all I have to say.” He answered, and Phichit saw him searching for Otabek’s eyes and Altin nod before he sat back.

“A very diplomatic answer, no doubt, but I’m sure you haven’t been displeased by his absence…” this made Yuri, Viktor and Otabek all suddenly get to their feet and Phichit couldn’t stand it anymore, he passed his phone to Sara and stepped forward until he was face to face with Mr. Mathew and poked him in the chest with his finger. He was furious, they were all suffering so much and he…he _dared!_

“You! You have been harassing every skater and especially Plisetsky and Nikiforov since Euro, you’re always disturbing the athletes with gossip-rag-worth questions, _you keep going after Plisetsky_ , who, I’d like to remind you, is _sixteen and a minor!_ But this… this is a new low, even for you, just suggesting that _any of us_ would be _happy_ because any athlete is not here for any reason, not to mention an illness, and more than anyone else, _more than anyone else_ Yuuri Katsuki! You’ve just offended in one idiotic sentence his rink-mates, friends and his coach, at least twice! You are a disgrace to the name of journalism and you’re just a vulture out for blood, _and it ends here!_ ”

Phichit had never felt so outraged, before, and although he stood a whole head below the man, he saw him shrink until he sat down. Then he turned towards the moderator, “Have him removed from the press conference, _now_!”

When he looked around, the other journalists were all glaring at the man, and Phichit was glad to see Morooka stand up and physically escort the man outside, flanking him with a displeased glower, the moderator on the other side.

It was enough.

He turned towards his friends, just to find Sara with a shit-eating grin on her face, and the others looking at him impressed.

“Is it still recording?” he asked to Sara.

“And Instagram is going crazy,” Emil answered, looking up from his phone where he was checking the comments.

“Good. Yuri’s Angels, if you are seeing this, Mr. Mathew is all yours.” He said to the camera. “Chulanont, out!” he said, taking back the phone and closing the live.

Unsurprisingly after that, the rest of the conference ran smoothly, and as soon as it finished, Chris spoke up.

“I’ll do damage control with Viktor, I’m sure Altin has Plisetsky, let’s meet for dinner?”

“I’ll find a good place,” Leo de la Iglesia said, “Quiet and private for us all.”

“Thanks Leo,” said Phichit. “I’m going to check on Yuuri, although he’s probably either cackling or angry, or both, because that bastard was awful to Yuri.”

Back in his room, he called Yuuri, who was, as predicted, both very amused and very, very angry.

“You were brilliant, Phichit, for a moment I thought Vitya would throw him his chair. How dared he say something like that to Yurio??”

“He had already been awful, but that was a new low. In any case, we signed a petition to have him banned from any skating competition. He’s not a good journalist either.”

“Not at all. I was about to send a message to Viktor, but Chris sent one to me first, he says that they were together and that he’ll make Vitya call me soon.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Viktor so angry, not even that one time that they insinuated he was doping. Chris ran to him immediately afterward. I saw Altin go after Yurio.”

“The fuck, that was another shitstorm. Yeah, I imagined as much and I think it’s good that he has someone in person there for this, we both really hate when they target Yurio!”

“Awww, you’re going all protective tiger-mom with her cub!” Phichit joked and heard Yuuri sputter, “Oh, come on, Yuuri, I know you have a soft spot for that boy, he’s really like a hedgehog, all spiky outside and soft inside.”

“Don’t ever let him hear you compare him to a hedgehog: he might bite your head off.” A pause, a bit too long for Yuuri’s usual speech patterns (that he had of course memorized long ago) and then, “Can you keep a secret, Peach? A true secret?”

“Yuuri… you seem terribly serious. I swear on my hamsters. It isn’t the leukemia, is it? It’s not back, right?”

“Oh no, no, Peach, sorry. It has to do with that, though, but I’m fine. And… Yurio is the reason I’m fine.”

A long pause. And then the puzzle pieces clicked together in Phichit’s head.

“Oh fuck! You’re telling me he’s…”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“No idea. I discovered it ten days ago. And please, don’t tell anyone, Viktor knows, I suspect Otabek too, and surely coach Feltsman, but it’s important that this doesn’t go anywhere, so check with Viktor in case. Tell him I told you.” Yuuri sounded really firm on this, though Phichit didn’t need the reminder.

“You know I love being an internet influencer, but this is the kind of thing that would attract the _wrong_ kind of attention. My lips are sealed and my fingers are glued together.”

“Thanks, Phichit.”

“It’s alright Yuuri. So… wow… he _is_ a caring boy, then.”

“He’s afraid of needles too.”

“Oh my gosh… so prickly and still…” and he started laughing, dragging Yuuri with him.


	29. Chapter Twenty-nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exhibition skate time!! What the heck did Viktor plan??

He clapped when Yura got to his final pose on the ice, and the speaker complimented him once again. They had four more exhibitions before Viktor’s one, so they went backstage where the others were waiting and keeping warm and nimble. The choreographer of the group exhibition had been glad to accommodate the skaters’ request and he had worked with them to make the transition smooth and to allow the first skater involved to have a bit of pause before their turn: only Viktor hadn’t done his skate yet.

They gathered at the center while Yura went to change his costume at the speed of light.

Viktor looked at each one of them, wondering. Just a year before, he had felt like the loneliest man alive, with only Makkachin and Chris on his side.

Now, he was surrounded by people he had met years before but never really got to know. Yura wasn’t sneering at him anymore (well, not as much at least) and Viktor had made friends with some of the younger skaters, allowing him to help them too, and making him feel like the medals weren’t everything he was taking away from the sport once he retired.

And all of that. All of that was because of Yuuri.

It had happened because, slightly more than one full year before, he had seen the clandestine video updated by the Nishigori twins, and had _felt something different from indifference_. He had felt like there was something more there. And although Yakov had hated him at the beginning, telling him he was wasting his remaining years, his entire career, Viktor had known, even back then, that it was the right thing to do. That he needed to do that. Because he wasn’t living anymore, he was… robotically surviving. He wasn’t seeing all the love around him, he wasn’t seeing all the people that looked up to him and really, sincerely admired him, the ones that weren’t attracted by his status.

_For Yuuri._

He drew a deep breath. Yura appeared at his side and nudged him.

“Come on, get this pep talk over with, old man.” He said, sneering, but Viktor draped an arm over his shoulder and the teen didn’t shrug it off.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, with a teasing lilt to his voice, before taking a deep breath. “Ok, then. Before we all go out and skate our best for our fans and for Yuuri I…” he cleared his voice, to avoid it breaking. “I want to thank all of you. And to tell you that I’m honored to consider all of you my friends and that… I know I’ve been sort of an ass, in the years, but… it was never to spite any of you. It was…”

“You were a depressed fucker blind to the fact that everyone just wanted to help you, we know Viktor, no need to drag it on.” Yura intervened, while the others laughed.

“Well, he’s not wrong, Vitya.” Chris chimed on his other side, patting his shoulder, “Don’t worry, we all know whom we have to thank for the fact that you were, in the end, able to pull your head out of your ass.”

Phichit came forward then, putting his hand facing down in front of him. Their eyes met, the Thai skater steadfast and serious, for once.

“For Yuuri,” He said.

Viktor put his hand on Phichit’s,

“For Yuuri,” he repeated. And then Chris, Yura, Otabek, Georgi, Mila, Sara, Michele, Emil, Leo, Seung Gil, Guang Hong Ji, even JJ repeated the gesture and the words. When every hand had been there for a second, Phichit exclaimed,

“GANBATTE!”

And then time seemed to pass in a flurry of jackets thrown off, gruffy Yakov gripping his neck reassuringly, and in a moment he was, again, at the center of the ice rink, his dark blue trousers blending with the darkened ring, and his light blue flowy shirt settling around his arms as he got into the starting position for _Yuri on ice_.

  
*** ***

TUMBLR

**@GIRL WITH THE BLUE POM-POM**

Oh my gosh, folks, you won’t believe me, but… oooh, these World’s championships have been such an emotional rollercoaster for me and I love all the people who convinced me to come with them so much! Thanks to all the Katsuki Official Fan Club, too!

So, my heart was going out of my chest when Nikiforov ended his free skate, it was so emotional. I threw the Yuuri-Stammi Vicino-Makkachin I had sewn for weeks and… oh my gosh, people, _he saw it and picked it up!_ It was so sweet, and then… He raised his head and all the people who were with me, Katie and the others, started making a lot of noise and pointing me while I tried to hide. He smiled so softly! Because it was dressed like Yuuri, and, yeah, Nikiforov is definitely completely smitten, trust me!

BUT! But this is not the end!! There’s the EXHIBITION SKATE, still, and, my dear friends, the things they got to!

When it was Nikiforov’s turn for the skate, the last one before the group number, if you don’t know how it goes, and suddenly the rink was dunk in darkness.

We could hear the sound of the skates on the ice, their stopping, and then…

Piano.

The running notes of Yuri on Ice started in the rink, and a light got just on the blades of the skater. Gold.

I…

I don’t want to describe you the whole skate, you can go and search for the videos, goodness knows there are some good ones out there and I’ll be off watching and re-watching them after I post this.

You all know the song, and if not, this is a good moment to go and listen to it while you read this. Yeah, do that, trust me.

He starts moving with the first notes, the light only hitting his legs and lighting up only at the first jump, when the main light gets on to follow him and show everything. I know he choreographed the original piece, and it, the original, was all about Yuuri describing himself to the world: his insecurities, his pain, his drive, his pride and its wounds. Nikiforov instead… describes Yuuri as he sees him. Where in Yuuri’s version there’s a timid hope, Viktor puts joy, his movements ample and harmonious. Where there are doubts and fears, Viktor’s movements are like a support. If you know Yuuri’s free skate well enough **(*fake cough* like me** ) you can see where his movements would sustain Yuuri’s, making it easier for him to get through, or where they would be cheering for him, and how Nikiforov really sees him: strong, graceful, beautiful… (well, that’s what I think every time I see it, at least. Also, _he’s so in love it hurts!)._

And then.

There’s that point when the crescendo stops and we hear the single notes.

And there, right at the end of the crescendo, Viktor crouches down, on his knees, defeated, weak, desperate. I could feel his suffering, and the whole rink was dark again, only one light on him, dimming too.

And then.

The first single note. And a hand on his shoulder.

The second. Another hand.

The third. Two more hands.

Seven notes, seven times he’s touched, and the lights come up slowly and steadily as the melody goes on, and it was like, them all, all those skaters that had always competed against each other: Giacometti, Chulanont, Ji, the Crispino twins, Nekola, Altin, De La Iglesia, Seung Gil, Babicheva, Popovich… They all appear and they are all wearing the same outfit: white shirt and dark trousers or skirt, in the same style as Viktor’s dark blue pants and light blue shirt. And the last one is Plisetsky, white shirt and blood red trousers, who is the one that stays with Viktor in the middle of the ice. And he is also the last one joining him, and the hand helping him raise again, and then the music goes faster again and every one of them dances around Viktor, and Yuri starts showing him what to do, and he repeats, like he’s helping, again, as everyone around him is helping, and then Viktor catches back, and he moves _together_ with Plisetsky, and all of them get into the final section of the original Yuri on Ice, while Viktor and Yuri do that side by side, probably as Yuuri and Viktor used to do that during training and… the last part, the last spin, ends with a big hug and… so there’s no more desperation, no more helplessness, no more fear. Only joy. Only love.

I cried. I cried so much, I’m crying even now: you have no idea, the whole public was silent, stunned, there was so much love in those few minutes, not only from Viktor, no, from all of them, and this was their dedication to Yuuri Katsuki, who has always said that he was just a “dime a dozen” skater (the hell he is, damn) and all these stars, all these magnificent athletes, well, this was their way to say “Baka, we love you and we miss you”, and especially after yesterday’s press conference, with that damn journalist…

I don’t know folks, you have to see it, you _have to see it all_ to understand.

Or to be one of them.

It was so beautiful.

And I was crying so much.

And then the whole ice palace exploded in a deafening applause, we all raised up and shouted their names, or Yuuri’s name, I should really re-watch the video because, I swear, I cannot remember.

But there was love.

And there was life.

All there on the ice.

COMMENTS

 **Figure-skating-is-my-soul:** Oh my gosh, @ **Girl-with-the-blue-pom-poms** , thank you… this is so beautiful and you captured exactly what I felt watching it live from home. And then all the other skaters joined in and they did a piece from an even older program of Katsuki and… Yeah, I really hope he felt all the love that is around for him!

 **Mila-my-queen:** I’M NOT CRYING, IT’S THE ONIONS, WHY DID YOU HAVE TO SEND ME ONIONS?? And did you see Mila’s teary eyes, and how Sara went to her and squeezed her hand? Oh my gosh, these skaters are like a family AND I JUST CAN’T!!

 **Phichit-is-my-king:** *WAILS WITHOUT END* Sniff… call me tomorrow, I may be able to speak, but thank you @ **Girl-with-the-blue-pom-poms!**

 **Victory-Bringer** : I… I have to admit that… this hit me harder than I expected. I’ve always seen Figure Skating as a competition, a sport but…

 **Figure-skating-is-my-soul:** It’s much more, isn’t it?

 **Victory-Bringer:** yeah… for them… it’s really everything.

*** ***

He had waited until the end of the exhibition, after the final piece, and his mom had held him and told him,

“See, Yuu-chan? You always consider yourself so much less of what you really are. Look at those people, they all love you so much, each one in their way, and Vicchan more than he loves himself.”

And he had nodded, too chocked up to talk.

He had sent a message to Viktor, though, and asked him to call as soon as he could, and didn’t even let the phone ring for a moment before answering.

“ _Vit’enka,_ ” he had breathed in the phone, and a slightly wet laugh had welcomed him on the other side.

“Золотце,” he said, “did you like it? We…”

“Like it? Viktor it was… it was… oh my gosh, I don’t have words, I… I love you so so much and I can’t wait to be with you again, and to see everyone.”

“I know darling. And I love you too. And I love that you liked it, everyone was fantastic and… Yuuri. If I have this family around now, if I was able to realize I _already had_ all of them around me, is only because of you. Your Stammi Vicino was what brought me to you, and brought me back to living, and not only surviving.”

“Well,” Yuuri smirked, drying his tears, “I think we owe some thanks to three little pranksters, after all”.

“I owe them everything, darling, I’ll give them anything they ask!” Viktor replied.

“Let’s _not_ tell them this, ok? Let’s save it for when they’ll need something serious, otherwise Yuuko will strangle us.” Yuuri joked, and sniffed again. “I’ll re-watch that exhibition skate for hours on end, just like when I was a kid and I watched all your programs. How did you put that together, by the way?”

“I hope you’ll stop watching it when I come to pick you up, дорогои… and I’ll tell you when you get back.” Viktor said, playfully.

“Yeah, I might. The real thing is so much better than the recorded one.”

“I’m counting down the hours until we meet again, my darling.” Yuuri could _hear_ Viktor wink through the phone.

“And I, the minutes, my Vitya.” He answered, feeling sappy.

“I have to go. The others want me to go out with them for one last dinner. I have my flight tomorrow. I’ll see you so very soon…”

“Yes, very soon. Go, have a nice dinner, hug everyone for me, _especially Yuri_ , and tell them I miss skating with them so much.”

“Will do. Goodnight, любов мой.”

“Good night, Vitya.”

A couple of hours later, his phone lighted up with a notification.

**PHICHIT YUURI**

You cried, didn’t you?

I’m still crying, you crazy people!

I’m watching it again.

How did you pull it off?

Hours and Hours of rehearsing, watching

Your program and having Viktor basically

Train all of us at the same time. He’s pretty

Unrelenting, how do you stand it?

Oh, it’s not that bad, I need to work hard.

Bullshit, you’re basically a war machine.

We’ll be all in danger at next Grand Prix!

Like you’d like it if I made it easy.

Phichit-kun?

Yes, Yuuri?

Thank you. You’re my best friend, you know, right?

And I’ll be your best man at the wedding, right?

… I’m going to regret this. Yes, yes, you’ll be.

YAY! I’ll start writing my speech immediately!

I’m definitely going to regret this.


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... The Reunion...   
> Back home, finally.

The last leg of the flight was trudging on and on, endlessly. Viktor kept looking at his watch every five minutes, cursing when he discovered that only four had passed and willfully ignoring Yakov’s pointed eye rolls and grumbles. The British Airways craft was moving, as he could clearly see through the window, the engines were giving off their faint vibration through the metal, and people had already started to fall asleep… and yet, Viktor felt every mile keenly, every hour as five, ten, or even whole months.

He wanted time to pass, because the following day he would finally see his Yuuri again, after almost two months, and he couldn’t wait.

When they landed at Pulkovo, it was roughly lunchtime. He wasn’t hungry, but Lilia pointedly put a sandwich in his hands and waited until he had given the first bite. Then, they all took a coach-bus to the rink. They were stepping down the bus and splitting up, when Mila and Georgi reminded him not to monopolize Yuuri when he came back and that the children had the little party organized for the following evening. Yura was the last to approach him, and he didn’t say anything, but he gave him a little shove with his shoulder and Viktor half hugged him, just to hear him complain loudly. He was so grateful for that boy. More than, but he didn’t have the words to express that.

He decided to walk home: after all the hours in the plane, he really needed to move around.

Worlds had been a blur. He had skated the best he could, considering the circumstances, pouring his longing in the programs (he was happy to have kept the programs from the year before, if he hadn’t skated Stammi Vicino, feeling Yuuri close to him in every move, he didn’t know how he could have skated at all), but other than that, he had only wanted the hours to pass quicker. Their friends had tried to help, and he was moved… Chris had taken him out again, the whole group reuniting in the off time to to celebrate Yuuri’s imminent return home. It had worked for a few hours, keeping his head away from the tic-toc of every single clock he found, or from checking his phone again, and again, and again. The exhibition skate had been more special to him than the competition. The way they all had come together, the love that he’d felt. It was different from Yuuri’s, different from loving Yuuri, but just as intense. He had had the strangest year ever but, oh, had it been worth it.

Texting with Yuuri had helped too, knowing that he was packing, knowing that he couldn’t wait to see him. Viktor even fantasized about Yuuri waiting at the airport for him, with Makkachin, like he had waited after the Rostelecom, and imagined the mad dash through the doors and picking Yuuri up in his arms, finally… in the end, he reluctantly discarded the idea: there would be too many people, he didn’t want Yuuri to risk his still delicate health, and too many eyes for what he knew would be a moment they’d want to keep private.

He had sent a message to his love as soon as they had allowed the phones on again on the tarmac, and he had smiled brightly at Yuuri’s response. Only a few hours to go still.

He arrived at his apartment complex and Viktor sighed. Few steps, and he could make a tea and check the house once more, then maybe rest a while. Yuuri was coming back the following day. Those last few hours suddenly seemed the longest ever.

He stepped out of the elevator and took out his keys. He still had his sunglasses on, the tiredness from the journey home making him sensitive to the luminous overcast day. He got in, put the suitcase on the side, took out his coat and glasses and abandoned them on the chair that rested on the side. He remembered the designer putting it there and thinking “what a weird thing to have there”, but then he had gotten used to it. He closed the door, leaning on it with his back, as if trying to keep the world out.

He sighed again, closing his eyes and inhaling the smell of home. The smell of the disinfectant he had used to clean it before leaving for Worlds had abated, and, in his exhaustion, he could almost smell rice and that herbal tea Yuuri had started to drink at the beginning of the therapy. He scrunched his eyes tight, trying to keep at bay the burn he felt, not really wanting to cry all alone in his empty house. He was breathing deeply to get his control back, to calm himself down, _just few more hours,_ when he heard the voice he longed for the most say,

“Okaeri, Vitya.” And two very familiar, very missed, warm hands touched his face.

*** ***

Raissa and his mother had managed to counter-surprise him, and he had been so grateful for that, spending those first days out with his mom had been wonderful, even if he was still easy to tire (although he had improved a lot in those two weeks and he was looking forward to being on the ice again) and he had to schedule naps in his daily routine, but now his attention was all on the clock. Viktor had sent a message when he had landed at Pulkovo, and then another when they had arrived at the rink, telling him that he was going to walk home, so he had a reasonable estimate for his arrival. He had drawn the curtains (as Viktor did every time they went out) and he was standing in the now dark sitting room, close to the sofa, when he heard the unmistakable sound of the key turning in the lock. The door opened. He smiled, and then his brows furrowed when he realized that Viktor hadn’t noticed him. In that moment, unguarded, his love was unknowingly showing him all his tiredness, his stress, for once letting his vulnerable side out and although Yuuri knew how hard everything had been, seeing him so tired made him want to envelope him in his arms and never let go (Stammi Vicino, non te ne andare…it was their song, wasn’t it?). So, he moved.

On silent socked feet he closed the distance between them, and when he was in front of him (Viktor had reclined his head towards the door and closed his eyes, his breathing studiously regular, Yuuri’s heart clenched painfully again) he murmured, his voice soft, “Okaeri, Vitya.”

He watched closely and carefully as that beloved face scrunched up in almost pain, and Yuuri took pity of him (and of himself), bringing his hands to Viktor’s cheeks, cupping them tenderly, caressing the lovely cheekbones he had missed so much. Viktor startled at the contact, and his eyes opened wide, fixing on him, incredulous.

“Yuuri?” he murmured, one hand coming up to rest on one of his forearms, “You’re here?” he asked, barely audible, while the other hand came up to grab the other arm, and Yuuri felt his mouth bend in a smile, heat on his face, his love’s hands clutching his forearms, giving him no room to move away. Not that he had any intention to.

“Hi, love.” He crooned, his voice a bit wet, and Viktor’s face crumbled, tears falling freely. He fell on his knees and his face pressed against Yuuri’s midsection, and the man’s hands left his just to grasp around his waist, holding him close, tight, closer still. He lowered his hands on Viktor’s head, stroking his hair, caressing his neck and shoulders.

“Tadaima…” he murmured, and Yuuri felt his lips press the word softly against his stomach, Viktor’s warm hands cradling his waist and Yuuri _got_ what Viktor meant. He kneeled in front of him, and cupped his cheeks again, prying that beloved face from his body.

“Surprised?” Yuuri tried, when his eyes met Viktor’s and he realized that both of them were crying. Viktor nodded.

“Yeah… very… oh god, _my Yuuri.._.”

Yuuri couldn’t resist anymore and threw his arms around Viktor, holding on his shoulders as tight as he could, while the other man sank his nose in his neck.

“I missed you…” he said, and Viktor started laughing, picking him up while he stood up and spinning around in the sitting room. Yuuri leaned his forehead on Vitya’s, and their eyes met, locking on each other, and Yuuri remembered how Minako sensei had told him that, if he didn’t want to get dizzy during a spin, he had to look at a fixed point at every turn. At home, he had used one of his Viktor’s posters, and how fitting was that the very same man was _his true_ fixed point now? Viktor’s eyes were on him, not straying one second… maybe, he could be Vitya’s one, too?

“I missed you too, золотце… I can’t believe you’re here now!” Viktor’s eyes were soft when he put him down, and he was smiling that heart-shaped smile he loved so much.

Viktor’s hand touched his hair (short, but full now, he didn’t have to wear scarves anymore) and his thumbs wiped under his eyes. Yuuri’s hands carded through Viktor’s hair again, and his eyes roamed the face he had known as well as his own since he was twelve. They were so close, Yuuri would just have to push on his toes to kiss Viktor.

So, he did.

‘ _Finally,_ ’ he thought, while his fiancé’s arms wrapped around him to press them closer and closer, and a soft moan escaped both. Seven weeks and counting had definitely been too long. Yuuri found himself pushing Viktor on their couch and climbing on him until he was perched on his lap, taking advantage of the slightly raised position to lave kisses on his whole face.

“Дорогои…” Viktor’s hands gripped his waist, and Yuuri tried not to be self-conscious of the needy sounds he emitted when those hands dove under his shirt, seeking skin on skin contact. “My Yuuri, my love…” Yuuri felt overwhelmed and curled on himself, hiding in Viktor’s neck. The Russian held him close for a while, and then nuzzled his nose to Yuuri’s cheek. “Darling… let me go and have a shower, I need to get this airplane smell off of me.” Yuuri nodded, but dove down to kiss him again, and again, before he could truly let Viktor go.

Yuuri busied himself with putting away Viktor’s suitcase: he wanted his fiancé all for himself when he got out of the bathroom. He found himself caressing Viktor’s Stammi Vicino costume, smiling faintly, remembering the stunning performance he had given at Worlds, then the new one, the costume he had worn for the exhibition and Yuuri could still feel his heart brimming with all the love he had been showed, his Vitya, all his friends… He had spent hours thanking every single one of them with a message, and he still felt lacking, but it was at least something to begin with. Finally, he put it in the laundry bag, and stood up, just to feel Viktor’s arms coming around him, the man nosing his hair and leaving butterfly kisses on his nape.

“Vitya…” he managed to squeeze out, his hands immediately coming to rest on Viktor’s arms, clutching them tight, the fabric of his shirt under his finger, worn and soft.

“My Yuuri… when did you get out?” he asked, muffling the words on the side of Yuuri’s neck, who smiled at how small the slender and tall man could make himself. He turned in the embrace and pushed the man until they could cuddle on the bed.

“The day after you left for Worlds…” Viktor gave a pained whimper at that.

“And you’ve been alone for a week?” he asked, “My love… I could…”

“You would have withdrawn from Worlds, and I didn’t want that. Hush… I had planned for it, and I was ready, I spent seven weeks alone, since Raissa said that I could be overwhelmed once out… besides I hadn’t taken into consideration that I’m not the only cunning Katsuki.” He smiled, caressing Viktor’s face, leaving small kisses on those lips he had missed so much, “I didn’t know that, but Raissa talked with my mom. So Okaasan was there when I got out. She went back yesterday morning; she couldn’t stay more with the onsen and everything.” Viktor smiled, relieved.

“I’m glad… I’m so glad you weren’t alone. And I bet you were happy to see your Mom…”

“Yes. I couldn’t believe it when I saw her. I hadn’t realized how much I missed her…”

“I know how that felt, золотце.” Viktor’s hands kept trailing on his body, and Yuuri was enjoying it so much after the separation, “Will you tell anyone else?”

“Mmmh… not for a few hours, for sure, I want some time with you, Vitya… I missed you so, so much.”

Yuuri kissed Viktor again, before he could answer with anything else, moaning when Viktor’s hands went back to his waist possessively. Yuuri then straddled him, pushing his hands under the soft long-sleeved shirt that Viktor had draped on after the shower. Yuuri smirked when Viktor’s breath hitched as his hands skimmed the toned stomach, and fixed his eyes on Viktor’s blue ones. Under his hands, he could feel Viktor’s chest moving up and down faster and faster, and Viktor’s lips parted, prompting him to bend over and kiss him deeply. His fiancé’s hands, until then clutching his waist, rose until they could thread in his short locks, making Yuuri shiver pleasantly.

“Fuck, it’s so much better when I’m not just remembering this…” he murmured, as his hands parted the shirt on the front and started taking it off Viktor. The other skater rose slightly from the bed and shrugged it off, while Yuuri rested back and got rid of his own t-shirt. A movement caught his attention then, his jeans being unbuttoned and the zip lowered gave him a relief he didn’t know he needed. He laughed, letting himself fall by Viktor’s side so that both of them could wiggle out of sweatpants and briefs. Viktor didn’t let him go back on top, but anticipated him by kissing his neck, especially the pulse point, making him moan.

“What is making you laugh, золотце?” he asked between kisses.

“I… I’m hard.” He felt his cheeks burn admitting it, and his Vitya smirked at that, lowering himself until he was kissing his stomach, and his throat was barely touching his cock.

“Uh-uh, love, you definitely are…” he said, licking a strip from his navel to the start of his ribs and making Yuuri jolt.

“I haven’t… oh, _oh_ ,” he started, and was promptly distracted when Viktor started kissing and suckling on his inner thigh, “I haven’t been able to since the first week in hospital,” he managed to bit out while Viktor arrived to his feet, always his feet, and started massaging them, sending thrills of pleasure when he dug in pressure points not even Yuuri had known before Viktor had started mapping them.

“Oh darling,” his Vitya’s voice was pained on his behalf, but Yuuri shook his head, fixing his eyes in Viktor’s,

“Don’t… don’t be sad, they said it’s normal but… I am now… and… oh Viten’ka…” he stopped being able to put words in order when Viktor, after softly kissing both his insteps, rose on his legs until he could mouth at his cock. He was in _heaven_ , if something like that existed. He forced his eyes to open, because he _really_ didn’t want to miss a second of this, even if it meant that it could be over terribly, terribly fast. Viktor licked his length before taking it in his mouth, and Yuuri moaned, and again when his fiancé chuckled at his reaction, sending vibrations straight through his cock. Yuuri’s hands went in Viktor’s hair, pulling slightly, and he managed to smirk when it was Vitya’s turn to moan shamelessly. He bent forward, grabbing his arms and pulling Viktor up, until they could kiss again, and their naked cocks slid together. They rutted against each other, and Yuuri lost time in the kisses, his hands trailing from Viktor’s arms to his back and then his shoulders, reconnecting with the man he had missed most of all. Leaving his mouth and trailing kisses on his neck and chest, Viktor distracted him enough to take him by surprise when he took both their shafts in his hand, stroking upwards. Yuuri almost shouted, and Vitya got to his ear just to say, his voice hoarse and low,

“Give me your hand…”

He obeyed, and Viktor laced their fingers together around their cocks, moving them up and down and Yuuri finally lost the fight with his own embarrassment, his moans coming higher and higher in volume and pitch, before Viktor pitifully kissed him and muffled his voice. 

It wasn’t about sex, it was about being as close, as in contact with the other as possible, and soon Yuuri felt the pleasure peaking,

“Vitya… Viten’ka… I’m…”

“I know, любов мой, me too…” Viktor answered, panting, and their hands picked up speed, and the kisses became more frantic, less presses of lips on lips and more sharing their own breaths, noses caressing each other. Yuuri fought to keep his eyes open, he didn’t want to lose a second of Viktor’s face, eyes shimmering with pleasure. And when Viktor came first, spending himself between their hands, and closing his eyes in a silent shout, Yuuri gave up on the control he had managed to retain and clutched at Vitya’s shoulder with his free arm, pulling him completely in his embrace, while the world whited around him.

He opened his eyes to Viktor cooing at him while he threw away what probably was one of their shirts, and he wiggled until they were gathered in each other’s arms.

“I love you, Vitya.” He said, kissing him again, sweetly, slowly.

“I love you too, my Yuuri.” Yuuri yawned loudly and Viktor chuckled, “let’s rest a while, Да?” Yuuri nodded and felt himself slip to sleep once again, safe in his Vitya’s arms, Vitya’s hand playing with his ring, and if he hadn’t been so tired, he would have said something about how much he had missed that quirk of his.

They were woken up from their nap on the bed by Viktor’s phone. It was about 6 pm and the text notification rang loud in their bedroom. Yuuri scrunched his nose, burying it in Viktor’s shirt for a moment, the one he had put on again after lunch and before deciding to have yet another nap, before looking at the screen with his fiancé.

**YURIO**  
Can I come for dinner?

Yuuri read the message and smiled, looking at Viktor who had raised an eyebrow at him in silence.

“Is it even a question? I’m making katsudon for three for a reason tonight.” Viktor laughed, and he could feel the vibration under the hand he had on his chest instead of hearing it tinning from a phone, making him even happier. “But don’t tell him I’m home…” he added, smirking.

**VIKTOR**

Sure. Come over around 8pm?  
Rest some more. Jet lag is nasty.

**YURIO**

Спасибо.

*** ***

Yuri huffed on the stairs (the elevator was taking too long) and knocked when he arrived at Viktor’s apartment. He didn’t have to wait long for the older skater to open the door.

“Oh, Yurio, hi!” he got in and hung his coat on the usual spot and was a bit surprised to receive another half hug and a smile from Viktor, who, until few hours ago, was broodier than him.

“Hi, old man, what’s up?” he munched out.

“All good, all good. Go and wash your hands, it’s almost ready. Oh, follow the instructions in the bathroom, please? We all need to get used to them.”

“Sure.”

He made a beeline for the bathroom, crossing the living room and hearing Viktor putting down the plates.

He followed the list that Viktor had taped in the bathroom and grumbled, while still doing so perfectly. He dried his hands and then got out. He went back to the kitchen, still stretching away the cramped flight and the new centimeters he wasn’t still so used to.

“Your water bill will go through the roof with…” he started, and then he forgot what he wanted to say. In front of him, placing a glass on the island table in the kitchen, there was the last person he expected to see.

He took in how short the hair still was, and how he would benefit from a few more pounds, but Yuri hadn’t realized that he had missed those stupid blue rimmed glasses and the stupid smile and the stupid exclamation of “Yurio!” without a screen between them until they were back.

For the second time his legs moved before he could really form a conscious thought about it, and he found himself hugging the man tightly, and being hugged just as tightly in return.

“Fuck, Katsudon, what are you doing here?” he asked, his usual brashness choked by the tears he felt running on his face. It was impossible not to think back to that day in December, when the world had crashed down on them all, or about crying on Katsudon’s chest because he was ill, it was impossible not to think about Beka’s arm around him in that room in the hospital, six weeks earlier, when everything he had wanted had been being at the end of this.

And maybe that wasn’t the end of it, not completely, not with the page-long procedures on how to wash one’s hands or the instructions to avoid places packed with people for a few months, or the frequent visits to the hospital for a while yet, but it was a damn fine place where to stop and breathe.

“I got out earlier and I decided to surprise you all.” And wasn’t Yuri chuffed in seeing him smirk, for once? “Not even Vitya knew. Someone’s bone marrow has been more effective than the doctors thought.” The man ended with a smile.

“Well, I am a badass, so…” he joked back, and was that how it would go? They would joke, would they? Could they? He clung to Yuuri and the man clung back.

“Спасибо, Юрий.” The Japanese man said on his hair, in a not so horrible accent, and maybe Yuri sobbed, but… he pushed, just to be able to look the man in the eyes.

“Yura. Or Yurachka, I suppose, at this point. Stop with the Yuri or Yurio, we’re definitely past that, with the common blood and everything.” Yuuri’s eyes got huge and his face lit with surprise and…

The shutter of a camera made them turn to see Viktor with his phone out.

“This is beautiful! Real agape!” he said, smiling widely (and maybe his eyes were glistening, but Yuri was too annoyed).

“Viktor, I’ll kill you!” Yuri exclaimed, but couldn’t carry his threat out because Katsudon hugged him tighter and kept him in place, not that Yuir was making much of an effort to move.

“After dinner.” Yuuri said. “Sit up, _Yura,_ I’m just finishing the katsudon up quickly and when we’ll eat.” Yuri grumbled but obeyed, sitting down and glaring at Viktor, who was typing on his phone. He heard his own phone’s notification, picked it up and saw the photos he had been sent.

“I won’t put them anywhere, if you don’t want me to.” Viktor said, somber and sincere, “But I thought you’d at least want them for yourself.”

Yuri opened one and looked at it in detail.

Katsudon was still taller, but by just three or four centimeters, now, when they had been ten. His face was half hidden in his hair and what could be seen of his expression, could never be mistaken for something different from deep affection and care. His arms kept Yuri close around his shoulders. Yuri’s face was almost completely hidden under Katsuki’s chin and neck and only his eyes, tightly closed, were visible. It was obvious that he was elated and happy. He reluctantly looked back at Viktor.

“Thanks.” He huffed out.

“No, Yurachka. _Thank you_ ” Viktor stated, half choked himself.

Yuri blushed, and got the napkin just to play with something, and then Yuuri put his steaming bowl of katsudon in front of him and sat down on his side, and yeah… that was what he had wanted that day in the hospital.

Later that night, back in his room at Lilia’s, he opened the photo again and smiled. Then he sent it to Otabek, because although he didn’t want to share it with others, Beka had shared that day with him, had helped him go through with it.

**YURI**

[Photo] 11.30 pm

Yuuri was home early.  
Viktor was obnoxious and shoot  
the photo

**BEKA**

That’s a nice surprise. I’m glad.  
Tell him welcome back from me.

It’s 2.30am in Almaty, what the hell  
are you doing awake?

Jet lag. I’ll sleep tomorrow.   
Wanna talk? I can call.

…  
Yes, please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stammi vicino, non te ne andare, obviously are the words of the song, and it means "Stay close to me, don't go away"


	31. Chapter Thirty-first

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is missing?
> 
> Well... the ice...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it.  
> This is the end of this story.
> 
> It's been a journey. I wrote more than half of this by hand and then re-checked, and rewrote. The quantity of research that went into this thing shows for like a 5% of what I learnt XD.
> 
> I started this in December 2018... it took 18 months to finish and almost another year to beta and publish... it's definitely been a while and the world has changed so much...
> 
> First, I need to thank my Beta, NepturnalHarianne. She hasn't only betaed this story, she was the person I went to rant or to plan things through when they were complicated, she helped me in slumps and finally she contributed by her magical work of making the awkward parts of my writing smooth.
> 
> Thank you, my friend!
> 
> Second, I want to thank each and every one of you that has stopped by, read a chapter or twenty, left kudos, a comment, subscribed, bookmarked.
> 
> I'm so honoured by your attention, by the appreciation you have showed me.
> 
> So, I hope this chapter lives up to the others and... THANK YOU!

He hadn’t even noticed leaving Viktor’s side when he got to the rink. He just walked forward, slowly and purposefully, and stood at the entrance gate for some long moments, in silence. The white surface of the ice glinted under the overhead lights, shimmering in its smoothness, cold and inviting and oh, _he had missed it_.

He had missed the smell of the ice rink, artificial cold and real ice mixing together. He had missed the echoing sensation the wide space of the rink had, and he could almost hear the sound of each skate. He bent, taking off first one blade guard, then the other. That was it. After seven weeks (and three days) he was back to the ice, to his beloved ice, source of joy and bitterness, victory and defeat, witness to his illness more than anything or anyone else (apart from Viktor, but there would never be a moment for Yuuri when Viktor and the ice weren’t the exact same thing in his heart), and now… witness to his come-back.

He hesitated one last moment, then he stepped onto the slick surface, feeling the blade slide, and it was like he had never said goodbye. Yuuri breathed deeply, and took a slow lap, taking into the empty stands, enjoying the air cold and crisp on his face. He enjoyed every muscle working as they knew how, his ears strained to hear the sound of each blade on the ice, his eyes wandered over the barrier, on the stands, the ceiling. It was familiar and suddenly he felt like he could breathe again. A three turn, then a mohawk, another, and then suddenly he stepped into a twizzle, one hand raised above his head, the other hugging his midriff, the free leg elegantly bent at the knee, enjoying the spinning sensation, elated. He crossed over, gaining speed and then he felt it… the sudden need, the joy bubbling out of his skin, of his mouth, and he followed it, and went faster and faster and then Yuuri’s spine bent backwards, his head aligning with the raised arms elegantly joined at the hands just above it, one leg bending in front of him, the foot forward giving direction, while the other elongated behind, his feet perfectly parallel, facing away one from the other. He got out of the perfect layback Ina Bauer in a slow spiral, and then left again, gaining speed again, occupying all the space he could with a magnificent spread eagle.

He needed something else, though, so he did it: like in Eros, the spread eagle gave way to a triple axel, and Yuuri hadn’t even jumped a double in _months_ , but he didn’t care, his body knew how to do it, he felt the strength to do it again, so he bent forward, his free leg jutting from the back to the front, the arms swaying forward from behind, lending their thrust to the other foot, which pushed hard on the blade and then he was soaring in the air, crossing his legs, taking his arms so close to his chest, tight, and _one, two, three, and a half_ and then the ice was there again, under his blade, his ankle, his knee, the other leg elegantly thrown backwards, and then a bubbling laughter erupted as he slowed down, until he could gracefully sink to the ice and kneel and just be _thankful_ for being there again.

“Tadaima.” he uttered, touching the cold, smooth surface, and it seemed to glint back at him, “Okaeri”, it seemed to whisper.

The always, for years now, familiar sound of Viktor’s blades on the ice captured his attention, then a hand, pale and soft and _oh so well known, now_ , appeared in front of him, and Yuuri raised his gaze just to meet Viktor’s soft one.

“Skate with me, золотце.” he said, and Yuuri could hear the slight tremble in his voice, filled with wonder and joy and relief. Yuuri nodded and beamed, then stood up, his feet certain and sure as if he had never stopped training for almost two months. He grasped the proffered hand while the man in front of him started skating backwards, pulling him along. Yuuri giggled, and if he stopped too long to think about it, it had been a crazy year, almost a whole one, since that day of snow in April in Hasetsu when Viktor had appeared in his life. Unable to contain his joy, he skated forward and jumped slightly to hug Viktor tight, and his fiancé could just about keep both of them upright, so hard they were laughing.

“Vitya… let’s train!” he exclaimed. He saw the shadow of worry in Viktor’s face, and could only peck him on the lips, and then Viktor chased it away with a smile.

“Yes, my love, let’s train,” he answered, and then he frowned a little, “but you’re restricted to single jumps.”

Yuuri groaned and Viktor laughed, but did as he had asked, and started giving him instructions to perform elements and spins and Yuuri wanted to give his all but he knew he needed to pace himself, because his stamina wasn’t quite back yet.

He was resting outside of the rink and Viktor had just finished giving him advice on a transition that was giving him pause, when he heard a shrill voice at the entrance.

“Yuuri!!” Mila yelled, and Yuuri rapidly found himself with an armful of redhead hugging him close, and hugged her back. “What… I thought Viktor would go later to pick you up!” she grinned at him, “It’s so good to have you back!”

“Mila! I’ve been home since the day after you left for Worlds… surprise?” He answered, and Mila’s shrill joy should have been tiring for him, but he couldn’t stop smiling at her happiness. A heavier hand landed on his shoulder and he turned just to see Yakov smiling at him.

“Welcome back, Katsuki.” He said, and then Yuuri was rapidly pulled in the older man’s unexpected and warm embrace.

“Thank you, coach Feltsman.” He answered, softer than usual. They parted and the gruff man put the hand back on his shoulder and squeezed it again.

“Yakov, boy, call me Yakov. It’s good to have everyone back home.”

Yuuri nodded, beaming, and then his gaze crossed Viktor, whose eyes were damp. He stepped towards his fiancé and cupped his cheeks.

“Vitya, what’s up?” he asked, worried.

“Nothing, моя звезда… it’s just that you’re really here and I’ve wanted this so much…” he answered, smiling damply at him and taking his hands in his. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’m just dreaming…”

“Then it’s the two of us dreaming,” he started, pushing his forehead on Viktor’s, and he would have gone on with that if not for the snort in the background.

“Oh, for the love of god, if the two of you are already starting this shit I’ll barf right here on the ice!” Yura called out when he saw them. Yuuri laughed at that, especially when, turning towards the angry kitten, he saw the smile on the teen’s face, and opened his arms to welcome him again.

Yura didn’t say anything but went willingly enough, even getting an arm out to include Viktor in the hug and receive one from the older Russian too.

Yuuri was grateful for all that. He had his family in Hasetsu and his family in St Petersburg, and Phichit, and Chris and all their friends around the world. He had Madame Lilia, who let out a soft gasp and gave him a kiss on the forehead when she entered and found him there, and if she had a suspicious glint in her eyes, he didn’t mention it. He had Georgi shooting photos of Viktor and him hugging Yura close and not saying anything, if not to send the pictures to his phone. The older skater winked at him and then swiped an arm towards him, with a dramatic flair.

“At last,” he exclaimed, voice echoing in the rink as only Georgi’s could. “Our hero comes back from the life-threatening quest! And not a moment too soon, those children were driving Mila and me to the asylum!” and Yuuri laughed at the antics of the older skater, who winked at him.

He had the children calling him “тренер Yuuri”, welcoming him with a whole routine prepared with the senior skaters that drove him both to tears and laughter, especially when they included Yura and Vitya and they had to copy their steps.

Yes, he still had a separated bathroom at the rink, pages long instructions on how to clean himself, which medicine to take when, he still tired easily and needed a lot of rest. But he was on the mend. He was back, still physically weak, yes, but more determined than ever, ready to give back to each person that had helped him so much in that period.

And Viktor, his steadfast Viktor, was still there, that marvelous man that hadn’t strayed from his side for a moment, he hadn’t given up on him even when _he himself_ had been tempted to.

Yuuri glided on the ice, skating towards the silver haired wondrous man that had been his center on ice and outside since he was twelve, and still was. He took his hands, and pulled him, while the children skated around them and Yura yelled that he would eat them alive while making them squeal in joy. Yuuri pulled him to skate, starting with the dance section of Stammi Vicino duet and Viktor’s shimmering smile was all the answer he needed, all the spotlight he wanted.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> моя звезда = My star

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, definitely, let me know what you think, let me know if you find typos (because this thing has been revised so many times, especially the first 15 chapters, that I cannot see a typo anymore, and although it's been thoroughly examined by my Beta, just let me know :D.


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